


Super High School Lag - Or how I learned that this absurdly long title doesn't even sum up the story at all

by BrightlyBlack



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Original, Comedy, Cringe, Fangan Ronpa, Gen, Humor, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Parody, Rants, Satire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightlyBlack/pseuds/BrightlyBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixteen OCs held hostage by the "Kill or be Killed" cliche. Some call it out, others don't. What's even more concerning is how low of a budget this fangan ronpa has and how lazy the author is. Will they even finish it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gratuitous Self-Introduction Cliche

Hoop's Peak Academy...

Some say that it exists, others don't... But as for me... 

Long have I lived in the shadow of my younger sister. If I really wanted to talk about myself, then I probably would. But this is her story, not mine. Yeah. I exist. But at the same time I don’t matter. Wow. That was depressing. But wasn’t that also insanely profound and relatively cool-sounding? Maybe I should-

“Shut up, Onii-san,” says a heavenly voice as her left elbow accidentally connects to my abdomen, “We’re not even related! And stop mumbling my name under your breath - it’s creepy!” And then she’s quickly out the door.

Wow. That hurt. But she’s always embarrassed when it comes to expressing her real feelings, so it’s to be expected. But you know what really hurts? This floor, man. This floor. It’s pretty dirty. I’ll have to remember to clean it before the next time these sort of accidents occur. But! Back to her! She can deny it all she wants, but Tamaki Nagase is related to me! Yes, that’s right! My younger sister is related to me and I am her older brother! I confirm this everyday by looking at our mailbox every time I step out. Whenever I do, my finger trembles with anticipation as it traces each letter of each nameplate. It’s truly a wonder whether or not the moment comes...

Tamaki Nagase... Hoshi Nagase… Yes! We’re still related! But I still don’t get why her nameplate is above mine. Hm… Interesting. Interesting.

...And now to get back inside to get changed.

Ever since I can remember, she’s always been a very shy girl. Why, she can’t express her feelings properly at all. I don’t even see her at breakfast because she’s too busy trying to catch the early bus. I’ll have to make a mental note to sleep in early, just to show that she’s not alone.

Every morning I check the mailbox to see if there’s anything worth noting. While doing so today, something was off. No, something was _different._ Somehow there’s this gigantic feeling that I’m somehow special, like I know it already… Then again that’s probably just there as filler so that we can get down to the really interesting parts…

Before I know it, I’m ripping open an envelope, and the letter inside is already in my very hands, its insignia catching my attention. The sender was none other that...

_Hoop’s Peak Academy._

Surely this was for my sister! Surely it must! What was really baffling was when my name came into view. There was no mistake at all - Hoop’s Peak Academy was too perfect to make them!

The contents reveal the following:

_Nagase, Hoshi:_

_We at Hoop’s Peak Academy could not help but take notice of your sheer devotion and selflessness in the well-being of another. It is by our decision that we invite you as a member of this year’s student body. Inside you will find an informational packet detailing everything you need to know about the enrollment process included with the notice._

_Congratulations. You are now the SHSL Siscon._

“Oh. Fucking. Hell.”

The. Fuck. Is. This?

If I hadn’t already known about Hope’s Peak Academy’s stance on talents, I could’ve easily passed this off as a joke. Even so… Were they dead serious about me attending...with this SHSL? Even more so… WHY HASN’T MY SISTER GOTTEN ONE? AM I NOT SUPPOSE TO BE ATTENDING THE SAME SCHOOL AS HER? But no sooner do I find myself catching my breath. Whew. Whew. Wow. I forgot. My sister already attends the school. Ahahahaha… Silly me.

So when do I start class? Today? No? Oh, okay. I can fix that. There is a sweet sound of marking pen scribbles being made as I correct the date to today. There! Finished! Whew... What an effort! Now my parents won’t be so worried about me not going to my old school anymore! Hoop's Peak Academy really needs to know what’s important for everyone. Good thing my handwriting is, like, font-like! You wouldn’t be able to tell if this was printed or printed!

I quickly jam the letter back into the envelope and back into the mailbox. Good news always needs to be around whenever I need it anyway! Walking toward my bus stop, the sudden thought of this morning put a smile on my face. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect. It was- Oh, wow. I already said that three times, didn’t I? Ahahahaha… Silly me.

You know what’s the best part? It wasn’t just the date I just corrected…

_Nagase, Hoshi:_

_We at Hoop’s Peak Academy could not help but take notice of your sheer devotion and selflessness in the well-being of another. It is by our decision that we invite you as a member of this year’s student body. Inside you will find an informational packet detailing everything you need to know about the enrollment process included with the notice._

_Congratulations. You are now the SHSL ~~Siscon.~~ BEST FUCKING BROTHER EVER._

_P.S. Feel free to leave your school right away and attend ours, you stud._


	2. Lack of a Bus Route Cliche

Aaaaaaaahgaghasgsdaaahgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadsafgdgsdvcxxsafsdgsertgaerfnsdjkfhsdkjcnsdkcnioasjdoiasjfkjdshknsdkvjhiudowiajdlajdiashfknkjfnksdhfiuasdancxzxsdaaaaaaaaaaaaaa wwwwwaaaaaahahaaaaaa!@#!asaaaaaaaaahaaaaa

“Ahahaha…ah…” 

“Someone shut that kid up!” The bus driver yells toward the back.

This is a pretty lazy day, if you ask me.

“Why? What’s wrong with my laugh?” I ask. In front of me stands the notorious Akishiro Wada, the SHSL Passenger. He’s notorious for being a passenger. Like, real notorious. He’s so notorious for being a passenger that he rides the bus to Hoop’s Peak Academy. How exciting! Yet here we are, him and I. Him and me. I and him. I and me. Somehow this guy has a problem with my laugh. Somehow I have a problem with how he has a problem with my laugh.

“No one fucking laughs like that, like ever! It’s weird as hell!”

This plot development goes no further.

I yawn.

“You’re so boring, it hurts.”

I get punched in the face.

Ouch.

“These talents keep getting worse each and every year,” I tell myself aloud. Somehow that sounded better in my head. Why do I get the sudden need to voice everything that feels important? Normal people probably don’t even do that.

I get up rather quickly. No bruises on this face. They disappear as quickly as the scene shifts. I’m suddenly walking up to the bus driver, with a sad look on my face. I can definitely feel my facial features curve into a sad smile. With just this, everyone will know how much pain I’ve felt through the cheekbones today.

“The hell do you want, kid?” The bus driver asks.

This is how accurate anime is.

“Hey, do you know when we’re going to get to Hoop’s Peak Academy?”

“It’s Hope’s, not Hoop’s, and we’ve already passed it.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

“Definitely.”

“Really.”

“Truly.”

“Turn the damn bus around.”

“Fine…”

“...You’re not turning it around.”

“It’s illegal.”

“Oh yeah…it is...”

“Go back to your seat.”

“Fine…”

There’s nothing to do, so I turn around and walk toward my seat...

...And then I turn around and pounce the shit out of that steering wheel.

“Get me back to the academy, damn it! It’s my destiny! My deeeeestiny!” The driver continues to wrestle the wheel out of my grasp, but I’m stronger, and he’s stronger than how stronger than I am when compared to him. Like, yeah. “Nooooooo! You cannot win, the power of hoop compels you!” Ye gods! This man fights like a stronger man than the man I am! And then I’m pushed back, smacked rear-first on the floorboard.

“Don’t you ever try that shit again, kid. You he-”

“I broke the gear shift.”

The man gags as if a wild animal is dying within him, and before I know it, he’s already trying to get the bus back on a steady pace. Coffee spills on everyone! Even me! It burns! But it’s too late! Hoop's Peak Academy is coming! I don’t know how I did it! But breaking the gear shift set me back on my road to success! I’ve done it! Victory pose! Yeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhaahaahahaaaaghackgaghaghagahgasofuckinhahothahothahotaaghashfsssaaaaahfsafcxfghaaaaahaaaaaa!

And the last thing I remember is being ejected out of the window as the bus comes crashing into the gates of Hoop’s Peak Academy. But it’s worth it! Even as the bus bursts into flames after climbing uphill on the hill that came after that last hill that came after several hills, it was all worth it… And so I get up, third-degree burns on me from fresh coffee, and walk into the entrance hall. Oh man! I’m finally here! It’s here! It’s-

And then a convenient blackout happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa


	3. Convenient Black-Out Cliche

Pitch black.

Hoop.

Remember.

Lucky.

Bitchin’.

Eyes wide open.

“...What the hell have I been smoking?” I say to no one in particular except me in particular.

This happens to everyone like me at least once... I’m sure of it...

Trailing periods follow...

And then I wake up, for reals for reals.


	4. Lack of a Childhood Friend Waking You Up Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I turned in my final college project two days ago...on my birthday.
> 
> Awesome possum.

Eyes wide open.

“...What the hell have I been smoking?” I say to no one in pa-

Oh gods. This is all dejavu, isn't it? I must’ve been dreaming about a future that I forgot to remember to not forget about re- 

“Ahahaha… Aha…” 

Yeeeee shivers... 

It’s damn cold here! Why am I so soaking wet? And what is this stickiness I feel in my hands? 

My hand seeks to be described, so I put it in front of me and begin to describe it. Unfortunately, my daily ritual has it in the wrong place. Reminding myself better, I raise my hand over in front of my head. And then I lick it. I lick it clean. And good. My fingers are now clean, and this feeling in my mouth tastes pretty good. _Now that’s a really good lemon flavor right there._ Like, really good. But alas, looking at my hand suddenly has me feeling rather empty now. Now that I’m without lemon flavor I don’t have the taste of lemons anymore, which means no more lemons to provide the taste of lemons anymore. At all.

Saddened by this, I begin to get up from the set of chairs I’m lying on, only to have the chair behind me pulled out from under. My bottom smacks into the weirdest layer of concrete flooring with my head following suit.

Wincing with pain, I turn toward the perpetrator, irritated beyond belief. But my expression relaxes, because now I know that in front of me is the most heavenly face in existence! My hands clasp together, and my eyes close… I can feel the cheekbones widening! I must first savor the imagination! And when I open my eyes, reality will reward me for my devotion. Eeeeeeeeee... My dear sister has really come to rescue her beloved older brother! She really has! She really has!

And then liquid splashes into my face along with the smack-smack of metal against flesh, toppling me over.

Ouch.

That really hurt, but it’ll go away soon enough.

“Oh my, you weren’t sleeping?” My sister says with a curious expression on her face, her finger tapping her chin, before then shrugging. “You really shouldn’t close your eyes, Onii-san. I thought you were _still_ sleeping because of that.”

I blink. I blink again. I do it again. Shouldn’t she be-

“Honestly,” she continues, “you could have woken up earlier. I had to dip your fingers in lemon juice, tie you to a chair, and drench you with a bucket of water. Yet nothing traditional worked.” She sighs, before narrowing her eyes. Her character really does that a lot. “Anymore and I would have swatted you like a fly.”

Bitterness hits me. My sister is in pain, and it’s all because of me. It’s my responsibility after all. As her big bro, I must ease her worries in the best way possible!

“Ahahaha… Don’t worry, dear sister. It’s just the daily me getting on about!” I say, getting up while flashing that trademark grin of mine. “So what’s today’s adventure?” I then ask, closing the distance between us two.

She quickly steps back, holding five fingers. “F-Five feet between us!”

“But that’s practically as big as this storage closet is.”

“Then get out and talk to me in the next room!”

“Okay…”

Personal boundaries are really important it seems. But they’re important to her, so they’re important to me. Opening the door, I head out. Before closing the door, I glance back at her in hopes of her looking back at me. She doesn’t do that. Must be the “dere” part of her that’s responsible. With the door closed, my sight is greeted with a large hallway.

“What a nice hallway…”

And then it quickly becomes dull. I bet I’ll have to walk around here a lot, all with nothing to examine in between. These are going to be sad days. I can tell.

Heading into the next room, I find myself in what looks to be another storage room. Huh… So there’s two storage rooms right next to each other? But just to make sure… I step outside and examine the door plate.

Storage Room.

Then I hop over to the other room’s door plate.

Storage Room.

They’re practically identical, aren’t they? But it’s best to change that lest there be confusion in our midst. With my fountain pen in hand, I scribble until the door plate is illegible, and then I write something new… Or at least I would have if I hadn’t ran out of space… Should’ve brought a mechanical pencil. I kept telling myself I should have, but nuuuuuuuuu! Had to take a pen over the two-in-one. Not only would it make this easier, but I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting the pencil or the eraser! Two in one, and I failed to realize the luxury of the simple two-in-one concept! My gods, how do I even pass my tests?

Defeated, I walk back to the storage room I was first head into. More distractions would definitely be nice…

Storage room #2 is full nifty-looking stuff. Examining this room will not only be boring, but just generally fruitless. If it wasn’t for my sister, I would definitely never step in here for any reason at all. Why is this even here? It’s like it’ll never be used again. In order to make this quick I’ll have to enter into survey mode. What I usually do is cup my hands into binocular mode for viewing purposes only. I then quickly hop over to the nearest thing that I can find. 

Whew. Let’s just get this over with.

 

**[INVESTIGATION START!]**

_...The fuck was that?_

...

 

[Examine Incandescent Light Bulb]

 

_So this is what gives light to the room._

 

Nagase: One of the quirks of being a light bulb is that you’ll never be left out in the dark. But that dream soon ends whenever you turn one off. In the end, light bulbs are really just lonely creatures who desire your company; they give light in hope of companionship.

 

Nagase: ...Just like a certain someone I know.

 

[Turn off Incandescent Light Bulb]

 

_In a lot of those slasher movies, someone dies as soon as the lights go off._

_..._

_I’m starting to feel a shiver coming._

 

[Turn on Incandescent Light Bulb]

 

[Examine Rusty Shelves]

 

_This shelf has completely rusted, yet it’s able to support the weight of these cardboard boxes. The mystery thickens indeed. Hmm… Yes, hmm indeed..._

 

[Examine Plain-looking Shelves]

 

_Fucking plain-looking shelves. Somehow I’m required to elaborate further on them._

 

[Examine Wooden Stepladder]

 

_A wooden stepladder greets me._

 

Nagase: If I tried climbing this thing, I’d probably get pretty...

 

[Puts on sunglasses]

 

_...rung out._

_AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_

_AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!_

_AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAGZXJKHACACLDNHJKZCJLFCXFDFJKASCHLKXZMCLZXKJFLKDSJCLKSDMKDLSJFLKDSNCKDSCSAKLDFJASIKAAHAAHAAAAAACKAAAAKAAAHACKAAA!!!!!!!!_

 

“No! No! No! BIG NO!” 

And with that, I ripped apart my hands and broke my binoculars. “Never fucking again. I could probably write two pages with all of this if I space between the lines enough, but… No!” Never again. Never again. That was just too damn painful to even do. What was I even doing? None of this was ever going to matter later on, I bet. I just hope to hell I don’t have to go through any of this again… It was like someone was telling me how to control my body… It was… It’s horrible! Horrible! Holy no. No. Just no. I don’t want to go through this again. Ever.

After recovering from a brief nervous breakdown, I began staring at the wall between the room I was in and the next room. It was only then I just now realized just what should have been obvious. It was so obvious that it hurt.

...I can’t talk to my sister through a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will possibly have illustrations. Cool beans.


	5. Meet n' Greet Infodump Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there aren't any illustrations.
> 
> Cool beans.

Looking at the wall slowly becomes boring, and so I quit staring at it. What was so fascinating about it anyway? My feet carry me across the room and into the doorway. As I close the door, I look back wondering if my sister is inside. But then I realize that the room is only similar to the other one, save for my sister being in it. However, my sister wasn’t in that other room when I checked. She moves faster than I would have thought she would normally be as fast.

Out in the hallway there’s a tip-tap and a tap-tip when my shoes clank against the floor. This floor is very polished. These tiles! It’s almost like a chessboard - that blackness and whiteness! Amazing. Just amazing. And so I invent a game, a game where I can only touch the white tiles or forever be corrupted by the blackness of the tiles. I’m so great at it that I keep a high score. The real problem is that it resets every time I forget.

It goes on like this until before me is a set of wooden double doors. I could probably set fire to the building from here, but I don’t have a lighter. Instead I just push open the doors. The room is full of several sets of long tables. There’s nothing spectacular about the room itself. What’s interesting is how inside I’m greeted by twelve different faces. Unfortunately, my sister’s face isn’t amongst them since she turned the other way immediately after I entered the room. But the other twelve are looking at me, wondering who I am. I’m wondering who they are. Do they know who I am? I think I know who they are. I need a name to put a super, uh, SHSL to their faces. Like, bam! Title screen and everything! Too bad I don’t have photo-editing software. I could probably mention a product, but I don’t think my brain can afford the costs. I don’t think I even have the talent to draw horribly!

Looking at the nearest one, I spy the cutest girl in the back of the room. So I zip past the fourteen others to surprise her. She turns around just as I’m halfway there, eying me. And then her eyes widen as she realizes that I’m going to talk to her! Her small frame shifts curiously, and then I’m there in front of her.

“Hiya, how are you?”

“H-How are you moving so fa-?”

“Easy enough, quickness is in the family, see?”

Before she asks for it, I’m already rolling up my slacks to poke at my own thighs. Muscular thighs. Bulging. As big as tumors. Pulsating. Oh yes. Alive and well. She’s probably looking at them in awe. I don’t normally exercise my arms or my torso, but when I do I’m always working out everything below the waist.

“Uh, that’s very nice, but I don-”

“Don’t think you could work out like me? Nonsense!” I reply back to her while quickly rolling down my slacks. “If you put your mind to it, you can end up like me.” A quick thumbs-up and a grin are what I give to her. She stares at me, entranced. She’s most surely the shy type, and I’m here to break her out of her shell and her glasses.

“Uh, uh, uh…” She’s dumbstruck. They were simple words for her, yet simple enough to have her come to a realization. This will take time to process for her, and so I give her a good moment to reflect on these wise words before she begins. “O-”

“Well! I think introductions ought to be underway! Now what is your name?”

She stares at me for a moment, but then shifts uncomfortably. She then adjusts her glasses and then does the same again, before then wiping them on the hem of her skirt and then pushing them to the back of her nose. And then she adjusts them again before then telling me, “Mori Shiori, the Super High School Level-” She then stops and stares at me, as if expecting something from me. But what is it? And then it hits me as her mouth begins to open.

“Victim.”

Her mouth closes. She then pouts. That is so cute…

_Mori Shiori…_

_She’s known as the Super High School Level Victim since she’s been victimized by so many crimes. I hear she was once held hostage because her father forgot to pay the water bill. Shocking. They say she’s come out of it all right considering, but looking at the person in front of me… I know otherwise!_

“Uh,” she begins nervously while glancing to her left...or her right? “Maybe it’s better if you go and meet-”

“Meet you?” I say, puzzled. I’ve already met her and know her name so there could only be one thing. “Of course I’d love to hear your backstory, Mori-chan!”

She tenses up a bit. I imagine it’s from the embarrassment of meeting another person and having an intimate conversation. She’s rather cute that way, especially when her eyes glance to the right...or her left? She seems to do that a lot, like how a ping pong bounces back and forth from both sides. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. And center.

Her mouth opens again. 

“Maybe… No, actually. I think you should meet everyone else. I mean they-”

“You know, you’re actually pretty cute, Mori-san. Not as a cute as my sister, however! But still cute!”

She blushes and looks down to her shoes, muttering, “Could you… Meet… People… Plea-”

“A great idea indeed!” I suddenly say. She gives out a sigh of relief. Probably because it took her a great deal to just say that. Of course, I have to get all these introductions over with. I quickly give her a smile and a quick “Let’s talk some more later after I talk to everyone else and they’ve talked to me, because honestly I think I just want to get through all of these people as quickly as possible while they probably want to get this over with as quickly as possible as I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.” 

She blinks, then turns her head to examine the wall behind her. Probably because it’s so interesting to look at. But she’ll soon find out how boring it is, just like I did. As I walk away, I suddenly remember that I should probably ask her for a suggestion. But just as I turn around, I see her walking away as if she were in a hurry. I decide to chase after her, but before I can even move a step a shoulder grabs my hand.

“I advise you not to take a step further.” A female voice suddenly says.

Turning around, I spot an eerie-looking girl. She needs to smile more, because she looks absolutely miserable-looking. Is this dateable? Can I safely call this a girl?

“Why yes, yes you can.”

Somehow this girl is so below average that I’m not even going to bother to describe her actions.

“Screw you and your cheap mind-reading techniques.”

“I don’t think you want to do any of the above.”

“You’re right... That’s a really disturbing mental image I’ve conjured up there.”

“Ask me your question.”

“Name and Super High School Level?”

“Sugawara Minori, the Super High School Level Psychic.”

_Sugawara Minori…_

_She’s famous for supposedly having psychic powers. I honestly don’t know what it is she does exactly with them, but it’s been said that she’s able to kick people to the ceiling without moving her foot. They also say people pay her just to get kicked to the ceiling, and they enjoy it!_

“Well, you certainly didn’t predict that I would ask that question, did you? I mean, you too-tally would have known that I would have if you had said something.”

“Common sense dictates that you either introduce yourself or you’re just generally rude in nature. Tell me, are you an asshole or just an asshole?”

Uh...

“Neither?”

“Good. Now look over behind you. I’m about to show you one of my abilities.”

I do so quickly.

“Now turn around,” she says.

When I do she’s nowhere to be found. There’s darkness instead. Oh. Just. Wow. Teleportation? Invisibility? Pyrokinesis? Do I have to believe she’s actually psychic now. It takes me a while to process this, but then the thought comes through. She’s actually not psychic, because her fist is blocking my view as it connects to my face.

“Ow! Ow! Why does everyone find a reason to beat on me?”

“One of my abilities happens to be the means to detect unnatural phenomenon within this world of ours. What just so happens to be unnatural is how your body barely even moved yet you’re not only gushing out blood but speaking as if I punched you.”

“You did punch me!”

“Really now? I do wonder what sort of spirit possessed me.”

The scene changes. I turn to walk away from her. I have a feeling I’m going to be walking away a lot more than the usual. As I do, I tell her over my shoulder, “You’re lucky my broken nose is already fixed!”

I continue walking around the room, in a circle. It helps move the time along until the next conversation pops up. As if to reaffirm the value in this scientific theory, a voice greets me.

“Woah, hold it right there, Bucko-san.” Bucko. Bucko. Bucko. Who even says that in this setting? I slowly turn around to my right, only to see nothing. The hell? So he’s probably to my left? And so I quickly turn around, and there he is - the guy - that guy. He perks up immediately as our eyes make contact. “Haha! You’re really exciting, you know that?” He suddenly says.

“And you are?” I quickly say. It’s the cool way of phrasing ‘What’s your name and SHSL?’.

He grins. “The Super High School Level Troper, Kobayashi Takeru! That’s eastern name ordinance for you, ufufu...”

“...fu.”

_Kobayashi Takeru…_

_What does this guy even do?_

“But alas,” he begins, “I must give you a quick lecture about what I do.” He grabs a seat, and then instructs me to do the same. I do the same. He does the same. I do it after he does the same. Same does it…? He inhales slowly, and then quickly exhales, as if he were preparing to deliver a long-ass speech. 

“Tropes... Tropes are magical tools that define the story. They’re tools that can be used for both intentional and unintentional use - that’s a trope. Why, even this conversation is a trope. The fact that all of us here are probably going to tell you something amazing in regards to our talent, and that our backstory is probably going to rely on our talent is also a trope. This whole world is a trope. The genre is a trope. You’re a trope. I’m a trope. This table is a trope. And when you’re liste-”

Holy. He really was preparing a long-ass speech.

I quickly get up and leave, annoyed that I had let myself be distracted by this guy when I could have shrugged him off. As I leave, he yells out to me, “This is also a trope!” despite the fact that this room is actually not that large. Actually, whenever I talk about walking it always seems like this room is much larger than it actually is…

Moving on over, I notice this snazzy-looking man. I mean, look at that suit he has. Snazzy. Tempted enough, I walk over to greet him, my hand held out to shake his hand. He reaches over to my hand and slaps it away… And so I slap his as well, prompting him to retract his, and so I retract mine as well. I eagerly await him to do the next step of our soon-to-be signature handshake, but he doesn’t.

“How rude,” I mutter.

“Ah, the roach hisses.” He immediately smirks. There’s obviously something hilarious about my presentation for him to deem it hilarious, so I ask him what he finds so funny.

“Ah, you don’t know? Ah, yes, you seem to be the type who goes around greeting everyone as if it’s the first thing you’re supposed to do.”

“To be fair, someone did-”

“Ah, but did I ask you for your opinion, cretin? Ah, no, I did not.” His head is held high toward the sky, or the ceiling rather. There’s something about the ceiling I’m not getting, so I look up to see what he’s looking up. It’s just a ceiling. Not as interesting as the wall, however.

The boy starts again, “Ah, yes... Haruhisa Kouhei, Super High School Level Master Debater not at your service.”

_Haruhisa Kouhei…_

_He has never lost a debate, as they say. They say that if he’s ever close to losing a debate, he won’t settle for a tie. Instead, he’ll brutally assault you and personally hammer his opinions right down your throat. Of course that’s just a rumor, especially the part about hammering opinions down someone’s throat. No one can actually do that in real life. No one._

“Aha… Ahahaha... Ahahahahahaha!!” Somehow I can’t take a guy with a Super High School Level title like that seriously. This is just hilarious. It’s so hilarious I have to use two exclamation points while laughing! Who the hell came up with this? Does Hoop’s Peak Academy actually think to themselves, ‘Wow. We kinda went too far with these talents.’ Probably not, I’m guessing.

“What type talent is master debating anyway?” I suddenly say, an amused grin on my face. “There’s no one you can actually convince when you’re on the internet!” Somehow I like this guy despite the fact that he probably dislikes me.

“Ah, I see you’re laughing at me,” Haruhisa says, unamused, “but you will see just the petty you when compared to a presence such as mine.” She then adjusts her glasses and then does the same again, before then wiping them on the hem of her skirt and then pushing them to the back of her nose. Wait. When did he get glasses? I don’t remember describing this before. Wait. She? He, uh, does this whole process twice before he finally says something else. “Ah, and here is a brief...emulation of your laughter, cretin.” The boy steps toward me, and so I step back. He then opens his mouth ever so slowly. Man, I actually thought he was trying to kiss-

“AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!” He laughs at the top of his lungs, advancing ever closer to my face. “Ah, do you see this?” He says. “Ah, this is how you laugh...watch again! AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!”

His voice is so shrill. It reminds me of the two lovebirds I keep at home in a cage that I never open. When I bought them at the store, the store employee told me that they sing beautifully. I thought he was a pro at selling! But no! He didn’t know crap! It’s just like that guy who sold me my fish. He told me the sucker fish don’t eat the rest of my fish - they just eat what’s off the wall! Well, when I last checked only my sucker fish got bigger! Those birds I bought don’t even sing to me. All they sing are songs of escape to each other, because you know what? They fucking hate me! Whenever I look at them, they literally turn around just so they don’t have to look at me. I mean, I’m not hideous, but this puts a tear on this beautiful face.

I begin to walk away from the mess of a man Haruhisa is. My gosh, I don’t sound like that at all, right? I mean, that guy sounds like the goddamn Count whenever he opens his mouth. There’s absolutely no way I sound like that. As I’m looking at my feet, I realize they stopped moving, so I manually move them myself. I continue this trend right until my feet bump against someone else’s feet.

“Oh! You touched feet with me...” A male voice suddenly said. Looking up, I see a good-looking Japanese boy, just like all the other Japanese boys in this room, like me for instance. “I was just in the middle of something,” he begins, “but I’m no stranger for making time for someone else.” What was he even doing? There’s nothing to do but stand around until I greet you.

“Name’s Miyamoto You, the, uh, Super High School Level...Foreigner…”

_Miyamoto You…_

_I’m tired of explaining things…_

“Please, just tell me what your Super High - Bleh! - SHSL is about and I’ll be on my way.” I immediately say. Somehow the thought of having to introduce myself to all these people is becoming tiresome. It’s just not normal to expose yourself to this amount of people in one day.

“Well, you see I’ve traveled around the world quite a bit! Scouring the Earth from country to country looking for another country!” He says it with such enthusiasm, but I’m just not feeling it today.

“That still doesn’t explain your title. Where were you born?”

“I was born here.”

“Here? Like in this room?” There’s no way someone actually gave birth in this dank place.

“No! I was born in Japan, damn it!” Before I know it this pleasant-looking guy is already clenching his teeth, and throwing fists at empty space. “I can’t believe all this crap I have to put up with! I leave Japan for most of my life, but I’m not even called a returnee when I come back, I’m just a Super High School Level Foreigner?! I speak the language and my accent isn’t even far off! Why couldn’t I just be the Super High School Level Traveler?! Or the Tourist?! Or at least a damn Super High School Level Foreign Fucking Exchange Student! Damn! Just damn! Damn it all! All of this!”

I look briefly to my left and to my right. None of them are even looking this way. Did they even hear this guy just now? When I look back, the guy is already apologizing and going back to that pleasant look he had on before.

“That’s a lot of steam carried out, I tell you! Feel free to leave, but don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

He sends me off just as quick as I met him, and he speaks as if this is the last time we’ll ever meet when I’m just going off to meet with everyone else. Something is wrong with most, or at least all of these people. So far none of them are using the SHSL acronym and are choosing to say it the long way, as if it’s just to toss some extra words in. I’m starting to feel like I’m the most normal person second to my sister.

My body turns to the left and is then greeted by a fist to the face.

“Ow! Ow! Third time already!”

There’s this incessant crackling of the knuckles that resounds across the room. And suddenly this booming voice erupts in front of me, “In my country, we greet one another with our damn fists!” Is what I hear from this muscular boy in the room. As if it weren’t enough, he wears several hoodies in order to define his role several times as needed.

“This is goddamn Japan, you live in this country with us. There is no such tradition!” I shout at him. And...holy hell! My nose is bleeding! It’s bleeding! Why? Why is it bleeding?!

“I, the Super High School Level Tough Cookie, Ohno Masaya says fucking otherwise!”

Aaaaaaaaaaa... My nose. It’s bleeding so much. This doesn’t usually happen, but it’s only with people like him around! Not even the SHSL Passenger was this brutal! Just, agh! I need to change the scene already! Just need to cha-

“Ha, my nose isn’t broken and neither is it bleeding!”

“What the devil? All the damn blood just rushed back into your nose, as if you were snorting it!” He looks awfully surprised rather than intimidating, and then he leans forward and asks, “That was snorting, right bitch?”

“No snorting involved! After watching true original anime series, you too can learn how to be a bloodbending bro like me!”

“Damn true!”

“Very true.”

“Let us have another bitchin’-ass greeting with the fists!”

“Let’s not.”

Talking with this guy is like trying to conduct a word search in every sentence with swears as your word bank. Hey, that’s actually pretty clever of me. I should use it again when no one remembers.

I then leave the room. But then I come back inside said room after realizing I walked away farther than needed this time around. And suddenly there’s another boy in front of me. I don’t know how to explain it, but he just popped up, like a pop-up book! Except without the popping-up aspect of the pop-up book! I mean, like, other than that, why couldn’t it have been a girl? This is the fifth time that a guy has-

“Watanabe Yusuke, the SHSL Culprit.” He says quickly without emotion.

I blink. I blink again. I don’t care what his title even means, I’m just glad he introduced himself quickly! And with the acronym, too! Somehow I feel like shaking his hand, because this just really made my day!

“Thank you, just thank you, really just-”

“Want to hear why I’m the Super High School Level Culprit?” He suddenly says, his lips curling into a wide grin.

What. My smile falters. I suddenly remember to retract my hand away from his. He’s not worth touching digits with.

“Noooo… And you were doing so-!”

“So I managed to get away with murder over this one guy. I took the guy’s head and shoved it down a drainage ditch, and then I dragged him out and then put him back into the drainage ditch, and then I dragged him out and stabbed him forty-three times for good measure, and I made sure to leave a piece of my clothing behind with my name written in blood.”

“So why did-”

“And then I shoved his head back into the drainage ditch.”

“...What.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, I ended that with a period.”

He scratches the back of his head, and then has this grin on his face. He’s almost enthusiastic over this brief exchange. Actually he is enthusiastic, even more so than the, uh, foreigner...

“Well, gosh! Ask me one then! I’d love to have a talk with you and me about me and not you.

“So why would you incriminate yourself like that?”

“Interesting question! Because I did it all to frame myself in order to frame another guy. Interesting indeed! See, I did everything that I did through the other guy by using him while he was sleeping. We’re talking about a guy who knocked out for a whole day, a real heavy sleeper!”

Somehow this makes sense. Somehow. Wait.

“Did you go to court?”

“What? No, I didn’t! They figured straight off that I was ‘innocent’ when they found the guy’s fingerprints all over the other guy. So they got that guy into court and gave him a nice sentence. Thankfully they didn’t think about looking for my fingerprints on him! Ha!”

“Can’t you still be tried since you haven’t gone to court?”

“Ha, really? I don’t think so. I mean, that’s-” And then he freezes, realizing what he just told me moments ago. His face goes pale, and his lips quiver as he gives this awkward smile to me. He starts to slowly walk away from me before turning the other way, but I won’t have any of that. And so I kick him in the left shin, sending him down backwards.

There’s this look of disbelief on his face as he turns around to look at me. Even as I tower over his crumpled figure, it’s a matter of how it doesn’t matter enough for it to matter. He doesn’t get to walk away, only I do. Me. Just me. I then turn around and walk away from him. When I gain some distance it’s only then that I wonder why the hell did I feel like I had to do any of that.

“Aaaaaaaaah...” I sigh heavily.

I look at the other people… There’s like seven of them left. I’m tired. Just tired. I’m tired of just explaining all of this… And so I bullshit all the other people’s introductions as I zip to them one by one.

“Name and Super High School Level?” I ask each of them, to which they all respond with their own answers.

“Chiba Asami, Super High School Level Activist.”

Boring. Before she can explain her backstory, I make the smart move to speak first.

“I’m going to meet someone more interesting, so goodbye to you.”

She raises a finger excitedly, and then realizes what I just said. Her expression drops and now she just feels terrible about herself. She probably has really terrible and boring things to talk about considering her title. And so I walk away from her.

My feet guide me through a lot in this wide room? Or is this a narrow room? It’s larger than the storage closet and storage closet #2, but it’s definitely not as large as I could describe it. In fact, I don’t think I have the mental capacity to stay interested enough to describe anything that’s outside my interests. With a click-clack and a clack-click, my shoes touch together with another person’s shoes.

“Like, like, like, like, like, your shoes. I, like, like them. A lot. Yeah. Like. Yeah.”

“For a lot of punctuation, you don’t say a lot.”

“Like, you’re right. Like, I mean, like, it’s just, like,” she begins before she then ends with, “my Super High School Level title is like the Beautician, yeah?”

I feel like I have to reread her sentences over and personally count all the likes she has in this sentence. I remember this one time back in debate club when we went over to our rival school. There was this guy who never got to the point right away. So I took one of the papers he handed out and started making a tally system for the many likes he put in his speech. I had nearly forty likes by the time he finally finished. I showed my classmates my efforts and I still hold the personal record to this day… Like, nobody else thought up something as good as this!

“So, like, what’s your-”

“And our conversation lasted over a second!” I suddenly exclaim. I quickly proceed to put my hands in an apologetic fashion as I speak my next line, “Really didn’t think you would be worth more than that, so bye now.”

I don’t bother to look at her expression as I walk away.

My shoes are really shiny. But then I suddenly remember that normal people don’t look at their shoes when they walk. So I quickly perk up my head and look in front of me. And then the next interesting thing pops up: a girl with a question mark hanging over her head with a cloud of smoke smoking around her. I take out my hand to quickly fan away said smoke, and then the girl is no longer confused.

“Oh goodie! I’m Yamaguchi Kana, the Super High School Level Question Mark Question Mark Question Mark!” She says excitedly. Her mouth is open even when she’s not speaking. She’s probably inhaling air to be productive.

It takes me a good while to process this absurdly long title that doesn’t even sum up the story - I mean, her talent. Her talent. And then it hits me after the clock hand passes a second.

“You don’t have a talent, do you?”

“...You caught me.” She says nervously, her fingers pecking at one another like toothpicks in a cheese grater. Then she suddenly opens her mouth (again?) and gives me the finger, with her pointer finger. “You see, when I woke up here I realized that I have an interesting case of amne-”

“Don’t care. Bye.”

As I turn around, I catch a glimpse of her mouth hanging wide open. The shock must’ve already caught up with her. I’m going to be honest with myself here. If she has a talent, then it’s going to involve a lot of questions coming from her.

“Ishikawa Kanako, Super High School Level Specialist.” A voice suddenly says as I walk past its owner.

These scenes shift so fast that I have a hard time noticing them unless if I talk about them, but then again I don’t actually have a lot to talk about if I actually put these thoughts into words, and holy hell this is a run-on sentence that i didn’t properly punctuate or even bothered to capitalize that previous i that wasn’t in the word previous or didn’t or capitalize. Or even the other i in capitalize. Other than that, I think I’m good. Oh, and that in should be included.

I then begin to walk off, before she grabs my hand, holding me back. I give her this look in her direction, the kind that’s a mixture of paralysis and nervous laughter. None of them were supposed to touch the hand model. None of them. I try wiggling my hand out of her hand, but she has this incredibly strong grip. Like, it’s not even anything natural about it. And then it hits me that she’s incredibly large in muscular proportions, and could probably kill me with two fingers pressing against my sides.

“I specialize in specializing,” she suddenly says in a cooling manner, eyes locked on my eyes. I didn’t dare to shift my eyes to the side, and so this continues until she finally lets go of my hand. “I like you.” She suddenly says as she retracts her own hand.

“Th-Thanks…?” Even as she turns around my eyes are locked on her. By the time I realize she’s no longer staring at me, I turn around immediately and run a foot away. It was just that frightening. Kinda like that frightened look you would get whenever a girl looks at a bourbon and wants to squeeze it and pull at its hair. The worst bit would be when they find out what you can do with a magnifying glass. 

That’s just terrible. Terrible people doing terrible things. It gives me the shivers with what she could probably do with those hands of hers. Oh gosh. Just oh gosh.

I don’t look where I’m going, and so I bump into another guy. This guy doesn’t wear glasses, but if he did he would probably push them on top of his nose as well. Hey, he has a vest. I like vests. He however probably doesn’t since his eyes narrow in what I could describe as only annoyance.

“And you are?” He speaks softly.

“Nagase Hoshi, the SHSL Best Fucking Brother Ever!”

He takes out a pen in his back pocket and taps his chin with it. It’s just then that I notice that he has a clipboard? A binder? Some paper-holding device that I never used in school? It’s in his other hand. It holds paper, I think.

“Okay, I am going to point out several things for you,” he begins as he starts taking notes with on his paper-holding device. Somehow I’m getting the feeling the skip option isn’t available during this part. “First of all, that is not a talent. If anything, I would guess your talent would be the Siscon, and it would not surprise me if that girl over there happened to be your sister.”

I get the urge to look over her way, and so I begin-

“Do not look over there. She is not looking your way. She _never_ looks your way.”

A simple “Okay” is all I can mutter before he continues speaking.

“Second of all, do not say this “SHSL” acronym. It does not roll off the tongue well, so bear without your acronym for now.”

“Why are you lecturing me about these sort of things anyway?” I tell him. After all, I don’t usually hear people doing this. Most just agree with me or disappear from my life. But instead of doing either, he sets down both his paper-holding device and his pen on the table before crossing his arms in front of him.

“Noguchi Wataru. I am the Super High School Level Proofreader.” There’s this commanding aura around him, like every word he says will likely be important sometime in the future. “I am the chosen one that respects and worships the Author, the one who fathoms all.” And he says this with his arms stretched out wide, and with this broad conceited smile on his face.

Oh hey, he’s not so normal after all!

“As per request, I will see to it that you are not without a path.” He says, his hand patting my shoulder. He should probably move that. “Other than that, my deity is not a brilliant one. In fact, Their idleness is outstanding, to the point where I must carry out the same will that I create.” He shakes his head slightly before continuing, “You would not believe just how many typographical errors I had to correct in the past. Even the title is a gigantic error, and Their will refuses to correct even that!”

I… I don’t get this.

“In the meantime I will create a list of all sixteen students so that short-sighted fellows such as yourself will not have to worry about using their own brain for remembering such trivialities. That is my job after all.”

He then points me to this chair over at another table, instructing me to sit on it. When I walk away from him, he does not follow. It’s weird, so I ask him why, in which he replies. “He will always be the last person you meet out of the rest of us. If you wait, he will come. Always.”

...And now I’m sitting on this chair like an idiot. What Noguchi said does not make sense. Actually, I’m not so sure on why I even listened. The pace itself was going steady enough, but now it’s suddenly this? There has to be some sense in this, I think.

Waiting…

Waiting…

Waiting…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…

I give up.

Just when I’m about to stand up, Noguchi is already hovering over me asking why I’m not doing as he asked me to.

“Whoever you’re talking about isn’t showing up right now,” I quickly tell him with my arms crossed and my cheeks puffed up to save valuable oxygen. One day oxygen will be valuable in the near-future.

“Carbon dioxide,” Noguchi incorrectly says.

I wave him off with both hands, to which he responds with the rolling of the eyes.

“Moving on,” he begins, “are you absolutely positive you met with everyone already?”

“Well, yeah. I am.”

“Did you meet with me?”

“No, I do-”

“You met with me not even a minute ago.” His eyebrows are suddenly furrowed. Somehow I’m trying to avoid meeting his eyes, but his voice has this way of luring me to his mouth, to which I eventually gaze upon those chocolate brown eyes of his that are probably edible as I pass by them. “Not even a minute, and you are already itching to move along. You have one too many flaws in your character, Nagase.”

Ouch. That’s a low blow right there. At least my personality recovers fast.

A paper-holding device is shoved into my hands, prompting me to open it. Noguchi soon tells me that he already finished listing all students’ names and SHSLs. He’s even included reasons for why any of them made it in Hoop’s Peak Academy. Among them, I make out my sister’s excellent talent of Satellite Technician. I don’t know what she does, but it clearly _revolves_ her work! Aha! Other than that, there’s one other name and title that’s unfamiliar with me:

_Inage, Kotoma - Super High School Level Good Luck._

_Good luck. That’s it._

That’s probably the person I’m suppose to meet, but this is name pretty feminine-sounding.

“So excluding you, and the other twelve, I have to meet this person?”

“Twelve?” He looks surprised. “There should be thirteen other persons in this room.”

Oh shoot. This mathematical equation. Uh… I met with, uh, eleven? No, twelve. Twelve persons. Add up me, Noguchi, and, uh… Was it eleven or twelve? No, it was definitely twelve. So me, Noguchi, and that other person… That’s fifteen!

While I was busy with that line of thought, Noguchi takes the liberty of writing something quickly into the paper-holding device before handing it back to me. When I take a look at it, a new name is displayed in fresh ink:

_Takahashi, Shogo - Super High School Level Extra._

_Was quickly enrolled due to the sudden death of Akishiro Wada, the Super High School Level Passenger, whom was onboard a transit bus that exploded shortly after crashing into the school’s front gates. Witnesses claim that ‘some batshit crazy kid with a disturbing laugh attempted to maul the bus driver while going hoop-hoop-hoop with the bus’ gear shift.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yeah.


	6. Low Budget Costs Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My funding has been cut off.
> 
> I barely even have enough to even let my proofreader work for free.

Noguchi quickly points me in the direction of Takahashi, but not without muttering about how much unnecessary attention he’s been getting lately. Following his instructions, I see a guy(?). I guess he counts as a guy? Somehow I don’t get how I didn’t see him, but then again he was hiding underneath a table. He even has a fortress of chairs surrounding him. He scoots out a chair from under and then appears from behind it. Pretty normal thing for humans to do in our wonderful society. 

His face is rather forgettable, and it takes me a handful just to barely remember his name. He gives off this smile, and then opens his mouth to speak. But then I remember!

“Takahashi Shogo, the SHSL Extra,” I say.

His expression falters, and suddenly he’s peering to his left, as if expecting something else. I think? Is that him avoiding something? Is he avoiding me? Oh no, he can’t be avoiding me. I’m too perfect to avoid. “Welp,” I say - it’s a combination of well and help, because it’s well about time and I want help in getting out of this conversation. That’s suppose to make sense, but somehow it doesn’t. I walk away from what is hopefully the last time I’ll ever have to from anyone.

There’s a creak-creak of the wood with my back pressing against it, and the wood presses up against me. The laws of physics dictate that every force has an equal opposite force, so it’s always necessary to describe how punching someone means the skin pushing up against the skin of someone’s fist. Except I forgot to describe all that until I thought of this up, and now this is suddenly not as important…

“...I’ve run out of things to say.” Say? Think? Describe? “A lot of things I say out loud really sound much better in my head,” I say out loud.

Just as I was about to get up, Noguchi appears near me. It’s weird, because I swore I didn’t see him a moment ago, but now he’s suddenly here. Where’s the pacing? The suspense?! I remember the times in my youth when I would notice someone was across the room and then they were suddenly near me. But people always denied I had the power to sense these things. But that could always be a lie. It’s completely possible that this world was constructed around me in order to do something with me. I say testing, but then again they constructed the word testing just as they have constructed this sentence. I bet I don’t even have free will, so even that is constructed.

“I cannot believe this slipped my mind,” he begins, his hand scratching at this scab on the back of his neck. I have to tip my head at the right angle to see, but even then I have to lean in and-

“Would you stop that?” Noguchi quickly tells me.

“Why? There’s nothi-”

“Just, just stop. Look, introduce yourself quickly so we can get this over with. Our little event has been unnecessarily prolonged thanks to your asinine efforts.” His brows furrow again. Wait. When did they do it the first time around? Didn’t he jus- “Get on with it.” And he turns me around and pushes me forward.

Taking a quick look, I see everyone’s faces. Well, except my sister’s - she’s not looking my way. Must be busy looking at the wall. But I know for sure she’ll get just as bored as Shamori-chan, seeing as how Shimori is busy staring at the table fortress nearby. No time to spare! Have to make this quick! Real quick! Extra quick! Quick! Quick! Quick! And fast! And even more fastest! Like, just so… 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I can’t do this anymore! Just end it! End it! Gosh! Oh gosh!

I quickly turn and flick my finger at Noguchi. He looks at me odd, as if I’m about to commit terrible sins with one finger of mine. It’s crazy, because there’s not much you can do with one finger. “Give me that paper-holding device you have there, Noguchi-san.” I say with my mouth open, before then closing it, and then reopening it to deli-

“Paper-holding device?” What a rude person. To interrupt my monologue with his question? He should know better that I’m only capable of talking and explaining his text on two separate occasions! Not at the same time! After a long space of silence from him, he finally continues, “This is a folder, not something you would call a “device.” You put paper in here, in the pockets. Honestly, Nagase. Have you not seen a goddamn _folder_ in your classroom at all?”

“Well, no. Of course not. Everything that the school gives out gets lost in my backpack, including this paper-holding device you speak of.” It’s true. This one time I was put in charge of taking home our class pet. By the time I remembered that I had that job, my backpack was full of rotten food. At least it worked out in the end! We got a hold of a crow that was picking at the dead turtle and made him our new class pet. Pleasant story overall. And, oh… “Hey, wait! Stop changing the subject by interfering with my thoughts!”

I quickly snatch the paper-holding device out of his hand and roll it up into a cone. Its owner only does nothing and leans against a table, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Actually, that’s two somethings he did. There’s this sudden urge to push the table further behind him, but I manage to put interest elsewhere. I take a deep breath and exhale.

“Whoosh!” Goes into my makeshift megaphone.

“That was the sound of the wind blowing,” I tell them at first, “and now here’s the sound of me calling all of you...which you already heard…” Aaaand...they’re not moving - they just got these blank expressions painted over their painted faces. “So, uh, now? Please? Yeah? Okay.” There’s a couple of blank looks given at my direction. Didn’t I already say that? I think they’re almost tempted to not do anything, but that’s not possible. Not after all the great first impressions I gave them. I mean, they’re-

“Ah, but do you honestly think that I would follow you?” Some likeable asshole interrupts my thoughts, but he’s so likeable at the same time. He’s already forgiven, even with that steel pole shoved up his ass.

“Just get over here, Marumisa.”

“Ah, but that’s not my name, because it’s-”

“Get over here, Narumisa!”

He gives me this look that looks like the look he gave me before I said anything about that look from before, and then he obliges with a movement of the feet and a strangled monkey crying out from his throat. Before I know it, everyone has already formed a blob in front of me, except Noguchi. He’s standing on top of a table.

Somehow someone is missing.

“Hey, where’s Shimori Kaori?”

“Um, my name is actually Mori Shi-”

“Oh hey there, Shimori-chan! Come up front so I can see your cute face better.”

“I, uh, I don’t really feel comfortable do-”

“Someone push that shrinking violet up front.” I ask everyone in particular.

Nobody but that Specialist girl does what I ask. Shimori has this strained look on her face as the Specialist pushes her along lightly. I probably would look that way too if a girl as large as her laid her hands on me. And… Holy fucking hell! She just gave me a thumbs-up and a grin!

“G-G-Get back, Specialist!” My finger jabs through the air repeatedly, pointing her away.

And thankfully she does just that and goes into the very back of the crowd. Actually, I meant for her to maintain a boundary of one room between us, but it was probably too advanced for her to know that. I can still see her though. She’s taller than all of them somehow. That’s not normal for a Japanese girl. I’ll just have to tilt my head a little lower when talking from now. The savagery! Is that how you spell that? But yeah, I always knew monsters came from Japan.

“Whew! Threat nullified!” I say out loud.

“What threat?”

“You wouldn’t understand, You! You’re not from here.”

Before the foreigner has a chance to speak again, I cut him off just to finish up everything.

“Oi! I’m Nagase Hoshi, the Super High School Level Best Fucking Brother Ever.”

There’s a snorting and chuckling sound from Noguchi. How he manages to do both at the same time is beyond me, but what really matters is that all of this crap has finally been wrapped up. Someone’s hand grabs the paper-holding device out of my hands, and lightly taps me on the shoulder with it. “You bent my shit.” Noguchi tells me before walking away. Weird guy. Stressing out on an object, and all.

And then the scene shifts. When I turn around there’s this short-looking boy staring at me. What’s curious is this antenna he has sticking straight - no wait - it’s curved slightly. And there it is, made of hair and just standing on top of his head. How it defies gravity is beyond explanation. I wouldn’t be surprise if it had it’s own gravitational pull.

...I should really find something small to throw at that antenna.

“Hi, I’m Inage Kotoma. My talent is Good Luck.” He suddenly tells me.

I quickly introduce myself, to which he tells me that he’s already introduced himself to everyone else. I’m unsure of how he did so, but when I begin to ask him how, a heavenly voice intervenes.

“There you are!” My sister! My perfect little sister. I haven’t been this close to you in months, let alone with a proper greeting from you, and now it’s already happened. There’s this smile plastered on my face, and I already know that the cosmos have given me a sign of their approval. I spread my arms out open, ready to engulf her in a hug.

“Kotoma-kun!”

Kotoma… Kun… Kotoma…? Kun…? Huh… My name isn’t Kotoma…

Inage waves to my sister, to which my sister envelopes him in a hug, prompting him to slowly do the same. I stare at this sight. This disturbing sight. There’s something wrong with it. No matter how much I put myself in his position, I’m not in it. Why am I not in it? How is he this close to her? Why is he this close to her? These questions continue, but I have no answers. No answers to questions. Questions to answers. Answers. Questions.

Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Fucking questions, man. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. Questions. 

Answers…?

“Why are you so close to her…?” I don’t like it, and so I ask. I ask him again, just to be sure he heard it. He smiles at me. Either that's him being friendly or it's his subtle display of arrogance.

“Oh sorry! Nagase, did you also want a hug, too?”

I quickly tell him no, and somehow he smiles again. No, he’s always been smiling. Even when he was talking he’s always smiling. I need to show him a nice grin. He can’t compete in smiles, not with this grin. Not with me. Not with this set of teeth that are inside this open mouth of mine full of white teeth. Not with-

“Upupupupu…” 

There’s this weird-ass laugh that interrupts my thoughts. I’m tired of everyone interrupting what I want to think. I’m tired of it all. And then the voice speaks again. “I see that you’ve all finally are done with introductions. Now get over to the gymnasium.” That voice resounds all over the room. There’s speakers scattered about. Now I see what was so interesting about the ceiling.

I walk away from Inage. It’s weird, but there’s this sudden urge that possesses me to move to the gymnasium. It’s violating me. It’s telling me what to do. Somehow I know where to go despite no one telling me. Screw the fact that I’m walking away more than I had hoped! I’ll have to deal with Inage’s relationship with my Tamaki later. Later… Later! LATER! Ehehehee...

“Aha… Ahahaha… AHAHAHAHAHA...!”

Laughter fills myself! Confidence booming! Why, I’m so confident that I can hear the echo of my laugh booming inside the room as I leave it for the hallways! It’s so shrill, almost familiar - that laugh!

_“AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH...”_

And despite everything else...

I still have the best smile in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is true suffering. 
> 
> I might have to _actually_ invest my time and effort for free.
> 
> Man...


	7. Introduction of a Not-so-Important Villain Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeayea~! He's here!

[Exit Meeting Room]

[Enter Hallway]

[Exit Hallway]

[Enter Gymnasium]

[Continue Monologue]

Man, that felt like it should have taken seconds despite the fact that it really should have take minutes, and despite the fact that it actually took hours to just think of this sentence. But that’s not important. What is important is the fourteen other faces staring at me, before then looking at the wall they were all looking at before. I don’t know. They often face one way or the other. Most of the time it’s toward me. It’s just easier to say they’re all facing one way than to go through every single one of them. I mean, fourteen? Come on. Other than that… How the hell are the other fourteen even in this room before me? I exited first before any of them did, and I could have sworn I saw the Specialist towering over the pipsqueaks.

“And all fourteen cards are in play,” says some guy whose name I’ve forgotten. As I walk past him, I could have sworn I heard him murmur. “...Tropes.”

“Like, where is the guy who summoned us? I mean, like, like, that’s, like, not cool, like, yeah.”

“I don’t know, bitch. All I do know is that we’re fucking waiting.”

“Ah, yes. Ah, right there. Ah, fuck.”

“Uh, I honestly don’t think we really need to wo-”

Holy hell, that’s already a quarter of us, and I don’t even need to describe any of them for anyone else to know who they are.

...Bored.

...Bored.

...Bored.

There’s this long wait. It’s so very long. I decided that I haven’t been sitting enough on the floor so I sit where I’m sitting on top of this dirty floor that’s being sat upon. What did the previous occupants do on this dirty floor anyway? Baseball? Lacrosse? Football? ...Hockey? Either way, as soon as I sit down, dust flies everywhere. There’s a cough-cough-cough that escapes from my throat, or my lungs rather, or just my alveoli. Then again, no one knows what an alveoli is. Not even I know what they are!  
My patience wears thinnest. I hurriedly walk over to wear both Inage and Tamaki are at. There’s...something about Inage that I just don’t like. Something about him… Something with him? Even then, he reminds me of somebody, too…

“Who are you?!” I say with an accusing finger.

“Uh, Inage Kotoma…?”

Just when I’m about to ask him another question, Tamaki chimes in, “Oni - I mean, Nagase - do you mind...leaving us two alone for a bit?”

“Why?” I ask her the same question I meant to say to Inage.

“Why not?” She says, her eyes narrowing. They’re so narrow they could crack a walnut open. “I’m busy right now. Nagase, do you mind staring at that wall over there?” Her fingers points at a wall. I don’t know how to describe it other than that it’s a wall-ey wall. ...That was a terrible reference.

“But I already did do that several times today, just as I did yesterday. There’s nothing anymore interesting about-” And then it hits me. There’s something my sister isn’t doing. She’s not calling me by that name. “Why are you calling me by our family name?” I immediately tell her.

She answers with a cough-cough of her own. Probably to clear her throat, seeing as how coughs do do that. Are two dos even right? Should I have said it as DOs instead dos? Apostrophe…? Yes, that makes sense, I think. Overtime, Inage stays silent, but he looks back and forth to the both of us, as if thinking we’re going to fuse at some point. But that’s a weird thought for him to think of. Creepy as hell, I would say.

Tamaki advances toward me, getting closer to me than the usual norm. There’s this slightly wider-than-normal smile on her face. We’re suppose to have a five feet radius from each other, but today she breaks it. It makes me a bit happy, but at the same time I wonder just why. When I ask her that, she replies that today she needs to do something “special.” And so she gets close to me and whispers into my ears…

“Our relationship as siblings is precious, and we can’t have anyone jealous of it once they know, right? That would be bad for you.”

It makes sense.

"I see. I get it. I'll do just that! Don't you worry a thing!"

She giggles a bit, and that’s cute. Almost as cute as Shimori’s… Oh… Oh! I mean, it’s almost as cute as Tamaki. It’s as cute! Not as cute as cute as Shimori’s. Wait. Shimori has never giggled, so that would mean there’s nothing to worry about. I think. Maybe. Sure. At the same time, I need to hear it from the shamrock herself.

"Good boy." Her hand pats me lightly on the head.

And then she steps away from me, just as fast as she entered our five foot radius. It makes sense, with what she just said. At the same time, Inage… As I look over at the two, there’s smiles plastered on their faces. Smiles? Smile? Faces? Face? Tamaki and I don’t always have that, but maybe, just maybe it’ll happen. She’s always been shy about our relationship as siblings and I don’t want to ruin that. She’s a blessing. Truly.

...Inage.

...Kotoma.

Ahahahaha…

“Upupupupupu…” And then there’s that monotonous voice again, or was it monosyllabic? I don’t think any of them are even right. But that voice speaks, and it is neither charming nor charming.

“The hell said that?” says Watanabe, whose SHSL I’m having trouble remembering. I should probably look back a couple at the conversations to remember it. It’s not just him, but it seems like almost everybody mentions it at least once in their life before never speaking about it again. Reality really needs a CTRL+F feature. But not just reality, Japan needs one. Like, seriously. I mean, just seriously. It’s-

“Like, like, I don’t like-like this.”

“Stop cutting off my thoughts!” I whisper.

But of course she doesn’t hear any of it. Typical.

“I feel a tinge of malicious intent spreading about within the air,” our SHSL Fraud says to validate her position yet again before finally ending with a nice “Beware!” for effect. You know what, I’m just going to just put their names right in my head whenever they speak. It’s getting tiring when it’s all about the “he says, she says” structure.

“Oh hell no! Just because I haven’t lived in Japan all my life, like you normies!” Miyamoto frustrates over the littlest things. It’s depressing. I’m depressed. Why does he even get to make me depressed? Must his existence be depressing? I feel like I have to add to any little comment they say because otherwise it’s small. At the same time, I feel horrible because now it takes forever for me to sort my thoughts out on one person’s words and then onto the next one’s words.

“Excuse me, but the quota requires that you shut up and let the female continue on.”

Who the hell said that? Who. Said. Tha- Oh, it’s the Activist. I always knew she was a terrible person. Called it. Ordered it. Paid it. Packaged it. Shipped it. Delivered it. Opened it. Disappointed it.

“Like, Chiba-san. I think with that said, like, I deserve at least one line in consideration, like, like, yeah, like.” Says the Beautician, Rando Isa.

…

…

…

No one else has a line to say, so then our host finally gets to say something.

“Damn, you bastards sure do add a lot of filler before my introduction.”

And out pops a teddy bear from behind the podium and on top of the podium. Yay.

“Hey, it’s a fucking talking panda!”

“Fuck off, bitch. You know I’m Monokuma.”

“Like, Monobear…?”

Monokuma looks at Rando as if she just said something stupid, which is weird because that grinning face he has makes it look like he’s a kid in a coat hanger store. 

“Get out.” 

He then delivers this sigh. “Sigh.” And continues from where he was originally planning on but was interrupted before he could ever speak from. “Okay, so you bastards are having fun...for now. But let’s face it, most of you are probably skipping this dialogue. Hell, even I want to skip it, but apparently I can’t because I’m the one giving it. That’s just weak.”

“You know what’s weak?” Wannabe begins, “a guy who just got killed.” And he says this while grinning. I quickly look around. Nobody is looking at this guy? Really?

“Uh, guys?” I suddenly voice out, “Did any of you not hear that?”

On my left, the Trooper leans in, like 90 degrees in type of lean. “Oh yeah, man. We _totally_ heard that. But we’re just going to forget about it, you know?” I quickly tell him that I don’t know before he shrugs and tells me how I’ve just butchered an idiom. After we’re done, he proceeds to whisper “Tropes” in my direction. I’m starting to think he’s just been mispelling his Super High School Level this entire time.

“Hey, you!” And suddenly that Monokuma guy is shouting at him. “Kobayashi! Stop talking. I’m trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

This seems to puzzle the Trooper. “Wait, uh, how do you know our names?”

The questions hangs around the air for a bit, but Monokuma answers anyway. “Oh please, you think your names are unusually exotic or haven’t been used at all? I bet you that I can easily find all of your family names off a Top 100 most common Japanese names list website.”

“Meh.” The Trooper comments. Meh is right.

“Um, so are you a teddy bear?” Shimori-chan then asks.

A dying animal escapes out of the bear’s throat. The bear then asks if anyone else has any questions, to which silence follows. I guess it isn’t weird for people to not respond at important moments despite thinking beforehand that the bear isn’t a robot, but a stuffed bear. That did happen, right?

“Okay, bastards. You know how despairing the world can be?” The bear-panda-mongoose thing continues. “True despair is having to relive yourself in a world where you’re expected to live to other people’s expectations. True despair is when I suddenly drop the ball with you, but someone has the gall to pull the chain back and say ‘No, fuck you. I’m going to charge at you and kill you, and we’re leaving.’ True despair is having to pause for a moment just to have everyone breathe a little just because I told them something despairing. No, no. Actually, I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

_“If you want to escape, you have to kill a fellow student!”_

…

…

…

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will feature descriptive background information for the entire cast.


	8. Everyone's Reaction is Important Cliche

“Holy what?!”

“Oh my gosh! What?!”

“What?!”

“Ah, what?!”

“What-a-what?!”

“...What?!”

“Like, like, like, like, what?! Yeah.”

“No way! What?!”

“Tropes… What?!”

“What?!”

“Fucking what?!”

“I cannot believe I am doing this… What?!”

“Nani~?!”

“Um, w-?!”

“Ahahahaha… What.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied.


	9. This Need to Count Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why?

The voices leave our heads. Silence evades. Invades. It comes and goes. All of it. We stand divided while united. The clock rings twice while the sound rings none. There’s a gap in our timeline between us individuals by seconds. Our being here is for everything. Someone has the gall to dispel our gosh-ridden thoughts with words spoken succinctly but true.

“Fucking bullshit, all of it!” Ohno-san says with grace.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” It’s rather hard to take Monokuma seriously with that wicked grin on his face. (Does that count as a face?) “And here I thought you all would be ecstatic with the fact that we’re showcasing this ‘kill-or-be-killed’ setting. I mean, just how _often_ does anybody actually create a setting like this in any medium?” He then gives off a Upupupu-esque laugh and a Gyahahaha-like laugh. Somehow I feel like he’s suppose to do this whenever he says something even remotely unserious.

Nobody else really has to say anything. I’m just waiting for Ohno-san to actually say something. He doesn’t, though. The hell are we even waiting? He’s just staring at Monokuma as if he’s contemplating something. It’s weird. Absolutely weird. And so I poke him.

And I get punched.

Ouch. Again.

“Damn you, Monokuma! You evil fucking fiend, ya! I’ll put an end to this shitty-ass reign you got going on here!” And he says this unapologetically. There’s not even a room for a mention of me. I guess I’m just not important enough as a character...just yet. Before I know it, he’s already running at the bear, speeding at the pace of a snail. I don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, but there’s enough details for us to pass around before he gets there.

“Like, stop! Like, don’t do it, yeah!”

“Ah, yes - that moron.”

Even Wannabe, the Culprit, has a say in all this. “Look at him go! He’s running to his death! What fun! What fun! Hahahaha!” Man, his humor is starting to rub off on me now. I’m even scared to death that I might like this guy. Somehow he’s so likeable. I can’t get it. But he is. Somehow. Man. Just man.

While we wait for Ohno to finally get to what he was trying to do, several of us strike up a conversation. At the same time we do, Monokuma stands still awaiting Ohno’s actions. This slow motion feature is incredible.

“So, Shimori-chan.” I tell Shimori-chan. “What sort of hobbies do you have going on for you?” Shimori just looks at me, this horrified gaze pushing through her eye sockets. She’s likely this way because of her shrinking violet persona. A tragic story waiting to unfold before my very ears.

“I… My name is Mori Shiori, and I, uh, would appreciate it greatly if you didn’t talk to-”

“Talk to you?” I say, telling her ‘Talk to you?’ in a casual rhetoric way. “Nonsense! Of course I’ll talk to you! You and I have things that need clearing, you see! I talk to you, and you talk to me. Gradually we get along so well that you eventually tell me this great hidden background you got going. All while I tell little to nothing about myself. See, we gotta get this thing between you and I going so that eventually, we get m-”

“Nope! Nope! Can’t see that happening, not here and not now! Calling it out, early in!”

Did Shimori...just interrupt me? I look at her again from when I was looking at her at the time I was looking at her. Her mouth doesn’t move. It hasn’t moved at all. I tell her to speak, to which she replies, “I’m not a do-” and to which I reply, “Of course you aren’t, you cute girl~!”

I turn around swiftly to my right, and nothing happens, or nothing appears to be precise! I then turn around to my left, pass Shimori, and finally time enough to stare in the eyes of the Trooper. He grins. A lot of people do that, but his is one of the most annoying grins ever, I think. That’ll probably change, but he’s still annoying at this moment. And of course he’s the one who interrupted me.

“You interrupted my voiced-out thoughts,” I tell him about his interrupting my voiced-out thoughts. He begins to open his mouth, probably to tell me some useful advice that I think is useless crap.

“Interruption of a confession of romantic fancy…? Successful! Did you know that if allowed you to continue, then we’d have a classic case of you hearing a variation of the _‘You’re Not My Type,’_ ” and he says this with this weak-willed surprisingly feminine voice, “phrase? And then you’d likely spiral into the ‘Unrequited Love’ section of our select casting of males. Even more so, knowing you, I’d guess you’d be the type to inadvertently revel in the affection through rejection scenario.”

I quickly take a look to the side, to which I realize that Shimori is no longer there. A quick survey of the building reveals an extra pair of legs hiding behind the Specialist. Uuuuurgh! The very sight of her makes me want to turn away. And so I think about it. And then I think about turning away. And then I actually commit to the turning away. And then I finally do the turning away. The Trooper’s face greets me back.

“Fortunately, your love interest is conveniently nowhere to be found, right? The story is pleasant in that regard! Embarrassing moments for you are lessened! I’d say you even have a little…” He gets up close to me at 45 degree angle and tells me in a surprisingly seductive feminine voice, “ _...plot armor._ ” Ahahaha… He laughs a little, and so do I…?

But then the sudden questions ring in, one by one, guided by this mental bellringer that rings this strange bell in my head. Then again, I’m just making up random shit to fill in the pages, just so I can compete properly with everyone in this section. But yeah, I have a question to voice to this Trooper.

“So with all that said and done, what does this make you?”

He laughs. Annoyingly. If I could perfectly describe it, it would be annoying, but the subjectivism surrounding said description wouldn’t suffice. I think it’s best to describe it as the resemblance of a rat running on a rusted wheel so much to the point where said wheel breaks off from its metallic companions and announces this event with a “SHREEEEEEE!” sound. I once witnessed this in a pet shop. Tragic incident. They had to replace the wheel… But the rat was never the same… Very tragic indeed.

Finally he replies with, “I’m a trope!”

Of course he would say that. That’s his gimmick.

I quickly tell him that I don’t get why he keeps saying that. But most of all, I quickly regain my lack of believability, and so I then conjure up yet another question. This time, it’s a much better question. And so I ask him this much better question.

“And why do you keep mispelling your SHSL?!”

...Is the question never gets properly answered, because as soon as I begin with “But,” he then puts a shoulder on my hand, and then looks at me deeply in the eyes, before then speaking these words as his other hand points elsewhere.

“Conjunction Interruption.”

And his finger points at the slow motion action of Ohno and Monokuma.

“Oh hey, they’re almost done. I completely forgot those two were a thing!” I tell to everyone and no one in particular. 

I should have brought a watch, because then I could properly wonder at what time this started and at what time this ended. Exactly how much can we fit between then and there? Man, another mystery eludes me. But I don’t wear watches. The reason why I don’t ever wear watches is because having a watch is like having a restriction. Or in better words, my wrist can’t breathe whenever I wear one. Also, my mother believes it’s a sign of homosexuality if I wear my watch on my right and not on my left. She even does the weird hand motion that’s akin to one flap of a bird’s wing. I mean, I like wearing my watch on my right, and if I can’t have that, then no arm can have that!

**-TIMESKIP!-**

“Fucking shit, what is this beeping?!” The Ohno Masaya says while grasping Monokuma in his thick hands that aren’t as thick as the Specialist girl.

“Oh no, Ohno!”

**-TIMESKIP!-**

Explosion.

“Oh no!” Someone unimportant yelps.

Boom!.jpg

Boom!.jpg

Boom!.jpg

Holy hell. How many images of explosions does it take to kill him?

“Ohno! Ohno! Oh no! Ohno! Oh no!” 

People are yelping out his name and some other words I don’t recognize. We barely knew him, yet we care this much about him already. There’s something about having tears in the eyes that displays the emotional state of sadness. I don’t have any of that. But the guy’s dead, there’s something about this disbelief. This thing. Something. I’m suppose to say something great and saddening here, but I absolutely suck here. He just died. Yeah. He just died. That’s a good enough line, I think.

That weird-ass voice rattles across the air, like a parrot resounding a nursery rhyme against a pebble and a corner. “Violence against the headmaster is prohibited… Bitch!” That bitch part is especially necessary to convey the emotional impact of getting rekted by a bear.

There’s a silence in the eyes, not one eye speaks at what lies in front of them. Ohno Masaya was dead, even more dead than we thought could even be possible beyond and at death. Noguchi lets out a sigh and the narrowing of the eyes. His hand strokes his hair lightly before smacking it straight into his forehead. That looks like it hurt.

“Honestly.” Noguchi is unfazed with the sudden redness. The man is a monster. “You did not make these rules clear to us at all in the first place, and I believe we are suppose to have them made clear to us after we receive a device of sorts.”

Monokuma looks stunned, and grins. He grins all the time actually. How the hell do I even know if he’s in shock? Or even sad? Hell, his voice doesn’t even change. That “Oh, I, uh, forgot about that… Upupupu...” line of his is monotonous. Guy is tone-deaf, maybe. Or mute. I mean, the laugh is legit, but everything else about him is frustratingly annoyingly irksome, and, uh, bothersome. Yeah.

He then throws out some devices he calls ElectroIDs or E-cards or E-handbooks. He says it doesn’t even matter what we call them since we already know what they are apparently. Every single one of them rain (or rains?) from the ceiling, and make this clitter-clatter sound when they bounce off the floor a couple of times. For a moment, I wonder if any of them will break. Monokuma reassures that this will never be the case. He can’t be right. Not at all! Only I’m right! I take a look anyway. Thankfully, mine is broken. Another win for me and Hoop’s Peak Academy, I see! Yes! Yes! And yes!

“Upupupu… And now the fun begins! With the, eh, how many are there of you anyway?” He proceeds to count with his tiny-tiny-tiny-tiny sharp claws that could skin you like a clothesliner. 

“Er, one, two, three… thirteen? No, wait! Fourteen! There’s fourteen of you bastards standing around.”

“No, it’s _actually_ fifteen people.” Someone unrecognizable says.

What the hell?

Several others along with me glance around for the owner of the voice, but it’s impossible, because, like I said, that person is UNRECOGNIZABLE! And holy hell, that’s a lot of commas than I’m used to putting out. I’m not even sure if any of them are even properly used. Damn. Just damn. I don’t even know how to fix any of this, but hopefully no one else in this room notices what atrocities I have just committed here in this room.

The sound of Noguchi running his hair in his hands resounds across the gymnasium.

The calm in his voice is then heard sincerely as he speaks to Monokuma “That is a rather short number to have, if you ask me.” He says calmingly with a sincere voice as he speaks to Monokuma.

“Nonsense!” Kumamono - Monokuma counters. “With this we could have a good, uh, oh deuce!” He then proceeds to face away from us. I swear there’s some sort of muttering going on between him and him. Something along the lines of how “there can’t be a sixth or fifth now” and how “even a fourth is still pushing it.”

“Surely you can fix this, can you not?” Noguchi then tells Monokuma. Somehow Monokuma seems intrigued, but somehow I can also think he’s intrigued when I have no idea how to tell. A lot of people always tell me not to go with my gut, because my gut is wrong. But they have no idea how I work under pressure when it comes to lynching the mafia! Like, I mean, AGH! AGH! AGH AAAAASFHDASKJSFHOAD#*$LSDKFJKL@AAAAAHSSCAAAAA!!>?!?!!

“What do you mean ‘you can fix this’?” Chiba Asami, our SHSL - Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa nevermind the SHSL - our Super High School Level Activist, questions skeptically. Questions. Skeptically. “Ohno-san is dead. He’s dead. Blown up. I hope to hell this isn’t your lame-ass way of mocking our Super High School Level Tough Cookie.” I always knew that she was a contrarian at heart.

Noguchi merely shrugs. “With the Author by my side, there is nothing that cannot be done.” And there’s that sickeningly wide grin and the extending of the arms coming from him.

“Enough with your god, there’s nothing that can fix this.”

“Do not worry,” he replies, “you will soon-”

**-TIMESKIP!-**

“See!” Monokuma announces to the entire world - or room rather.

“There’s nothing I can’t do!”

“Upupupu…!” 

“Upupupu…!” 

“Gyahahahaha…!”

“...Bitches!”

Exactly how the hell and how fast Monokuma did that is unknown to all of us. But we see what has now become of the person we once knew as Masaya Ohno.

“Robo-Ohno Masaya, here and sound!”

In front of us is some sort of cyborg thing that surprisingly resembles Ohno. It even has that burly tone of his. _That burly tone of his…_ There’s something about him that I feel is missing, though...

“Fuck!”

Oh, there it is.

“Wh-Wh-What did you do to him?!” Yamaguchi Kana, the Super High School Level Question Mark Quest… She talks about him with a look of horror.

“Hahaha, this is really an interesting turn of events,” Watanabe hilariously adds.

“I sense a spirit dwelling within him. Do not be alarmed. He is as he says he is.” Our Super High School Fraudulent Psychic adds… Wait a moment. I attempt to voice my question, but Miyamoto steals my thoughts from my thoughts.

“Hey, Sugawara.” The Foreigner tells Sugawara. “Aren’t you just a Psychic? I’m pretty sure you’re not even a Super High School Level Medium.” I would praise him if he came up with that on his own, but I should have been the one to expose her like this.

Sugawara Minori, however, seems unfazed.

“I have many powers, as you can see.”

That explains a lot, except it doesn’t, because it really didn’t explain a lot when we were expecting a response that explains a lot. 

Sometimes I think everyone exists to screw me over, but if I were to confront them about this, they would just hide the fact away. There could potentially be a higher being at work, someone who’s responsible for all this. This world I live in could be fake, filled with fake people… And now I’m just screwing myself over by wasting precious time spent in my head. I feel I can hear a voice every now and then, but this voice doesn’t tell me what to do. Actually, it just tells what I do. Hmm…

Miyamoto doesn’t even come up with a response to that, because behind Miyamoto is Monokuma giving him the finger, with his pointer finger. Like a good non-Japanese boy, Miyamoto complies.

“Good boy.” I say whisper aloud.

The robotic Ohno walks over to join us. It’s weird looking at him, but it’s definitely not as weird as looking at some of the other folks. Some of them are hideous to look at with their tacky-tacky clothes. Like, that Psy-

“Okay, ya bastards,” Monokuma’s voice resounds across the gymnasium. The screeching sound is akin to an eraser to a chalkboard. Uuuuurgh~! “We’ve prolonged this shit long enough. I don’t care how you do it, but kill someone already! Or kill yourself! You know what? I’m just going to cut it simple: Just kill something! Make me despair over how much you despair. I’ll eat that right up like fish fillet!”

“Upupupu…”

“Upupupu…”

“Gyahahaha~!”

“Anyway, so long, ya punks! Make sure you kill someone, or not. Actually, screw it. You’ll see me again when there’s a motive, because none of you bastards ever actually murder in the first three days. Goddamn normies, all of ya!”

He nudges around awkwardly, but really he just move to the left and the right quickly.

“Peace, bitches!”

…

...

And then he’s gone. The hell was that all about anyway? Even more so, someone needs to break this silence. It almost feels like it happens every time something large and even remotely grandiose happens. I guess we’re great at useless commentary but horrible at useful statement-making.

“Like, why would we kill one another? I don’t get it, you know?” The Super High School Level Beautician girl asks in a rhetorical manner.

“No, I don’t know,” Wannabe quickly says with this grin and a casual shrug. He gains +9 affection points from me just from doing all three of those things.

“Ah, if you ask me, there was a little...something missing, yes?”

“Hmph!” My sister always knows what to say. “If you ask me, I’d say there’s a clear lack of communication between ourselves and our host.”

…

“So how long are we supposed to stay like this?” I ask the walls and the floors and the ceilings. People don’t always pay attention to my questions anyway. I mean, it’s not just me, but people often say stuff that no one even replies to. Then again, they probably can’t even compare to me properly, unless if they were my sweet sister. Only she can compete properly with me! But yeah, other than that, my first impression on all of them was a rather grand one indeed anyway. A grand one indeed!

“Oh hell no! I actually have to _remind_ you all of your very _first_ motive?!” 

And suddenly Monokuma is back from behind the podium and then on top of the podium. Holy hell. I could’ve constructed this sentence in a more succinct manner if I had just used the ‘onto’ word as my keyword.

Monokuma quickly looks to the right, then to the left, then to the right, then to the left, and then to the right, and finally to the right. Seems pretty uncomfortable. Unusual indeed! I think. It’s only been like twenty minutes from back then to now. Wow. Twenty minutes. I don’t have a watch, but my mental clock is top-notch efficient.

“If you bitches want to escape, then pop a cap on yo bitches’ asses!”

“Peace out.”

…

...

And he’s gone. It took a bit of dots, but he’s gone for good. But yeah, now I see why I would want to kill someone. It’s kinda one of those things that makes one go “Hmmm!” and others go “Huh…” But for me, it’s more like...

“I probably wouldn’t mind killing someone.” I quietly yell.

And then I feel a shudder rise from the bottom to the top of my spines. Ye gods! The shivers come back, and eyes stare at me. Suddenly, everyone is looking at everyone, and so I look at them to blend in with the normalcy. The tinge of fear is fresh in the breeze. I look at Noguchi. He’s looking at me. I look at Shimori. She’s looking at me. I look at my sister. Even she’s looking at me! Ahahahahahahahaha! What a great feeling! Today is definitely a great day for me, and me, and only me. Screw the I. It’s all about me today! Happy days! Not only is my sister looking at me, but now everyone else is looking at me! Ahahahaha… Ahahaha… Aha… Aha… Aha… At me. Looking at me. They’re looking at me?

And then it hits me. I just said it out loud. Like a moron. Just like a moron. No idea how to recover from this. In the end I just speak out loud another time, and this time they’re words that matter so much right now.

“Fucking hell.”

**_____________**

**Prologue: Despair Title Insertion - End**

-15 Students Remain-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the prologue is over. Now I can feed myself.
> 
> Free-time events could definitely be a thing, so feel free to vote for a character. Probably taking up to two peeps only. How many votes do you even get? I dunno. Use consumer discretion?


	10. Obligatory Breakfast Club Meeting Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free-time goes to no one, because my own vote does not count. I think. But at least that means less writing.
> 
> Good job, Brightly. You're doing less work now.

The door shuts behind me. What awaits in front of my own dorm room is my own dorm room. Somehow it reminds me of home, with all the photographs of my sister pinned across the walls. I take a gather at the articles spread about in this expanse. One such photograph of my sister hangs gingerly, as if telling me that the mouse must devour the hawk. I tried that once, but the hawk devoured the mouse. Typical.

This one time a hawk appeared in front of my sister and I. It was up to me to defend her from this hawk, and so I shooed him away. Like the coward he was, the hawk flew off. This was a pointless story, but I find a point in it. My sister fled by the time I looked around - she boarded the bus without me. By the time I got to school, I was reprimanded for being “generally asinine and absurdly strange” by my superiors. Man, I go to work, and I don’t even get paid. Why doesn’t the school pay me to do work? But either way, my sister was safe, and I was glad.

_-ish..._

Taking one of the photos off, I scour its contents, looking for my sister. Sometimes it’s a chore, looking for that brown-ish flair in the hair, and those tic-tac nails of filedness. Final Piracy. Filial piety. Suddenly my body jolts forward, and then with my finger guiding my hand, and then my arm, up to my elbow, which then guides my shoulder, up to my spinal cord, and up to my neck, and then finally to my brain, to register that I must use my finger to guide my hand, and then my arm, up to my elbow, which then guides my shoulder, up to my spinal cord, and up to my neck, and then finally to my brain, which then allows me to see that what lies in front of my nose is none other than…

“There’s Walden.”

Man, it was hard looking for him in this scrapbook - he’s a typical joker, that Walden! But now to look for my sister. Somehow this photo had that other guy and not her. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole scrapbook was filled - oh wait, it is filled with him. That’s weird. I’ll just put this under my bed for the Animalia Arthropoda Chelicerata Arachnida Araneae Opisthothelae Araneomorphae Pholcidae to claim for themselves. Here’s hoping that this sacrifice appeases the beings who live under. Bwuwuwuwuwu~! Disgusting, yet noble things. Hopefully they don’t decide to crawl out and live inside my mouth. I hear the average person swallows four live ones in their sleep...or maybe it was eight? I don’t know. I don’t know. I just don’t know.

“Oh hey, there’s my sister.” I suddenly say with my finger reached out to tap at the image. Even then, she still wouldn’t face the camera, so I had to make do with photos of the backside of her head. That long brown hair of hers is pretty distinctive in a crowd. How is it that only my sister has chocolate brown hair? I’ve seen other people’s sisters, but they’re more blackish than brownish. My sister must be special, just as I believed.

Suddenly.

A.

Knock.

Occurs.

It resounds off wood against flesh, rebounding across the room in what could easily be debated as either cacophonous or euphonious. Newton’s third law comes into effect. My body perks up, straightens itself, readying itself to greet whatever encounter may await me. A hand appears in front of me. My hand. It surprises me for a moment, that eerie feeling of connection between mind and body. It stretches forth, looking, searching, wondering… A doorknob appears in view. Its shapeliness beckons the hand. And so my hand beckons its touch. The mystery of whether the doorknob moves to the right or the left begins. And so it turns to the left...and it opens.

In front of me is revealed a person of uninterest.

“Oh hey, uh, Nagase-san! You’re actually alive in there!” Yamaguchi Kana. That Super High School Level Question Mark Question Mark Question Mark. “You didn’t show up this morning, so we were starting to think that you-” The conversation wasn’t interesting. It wasn’t so much that it was uninteresting, but rather that an object had already garnered my interest. “So yeah, it would be nice of you to show up today at-”

The door shuts immediately on her, my hand pushing it. In but a few moments, my hand twists to the right...and it opens - the door opens. The mystery thickens. These doors can open to the right and to the left with a flick of the wrist acting on the doorknob itself.

Yamaguchi proceeds to push on the door from the opposite end, prompting my hand to push against said door. Newton’s third law comes into effect once again. “H-Hey, keep this door open, will you?” She says it with this constrained face that I can’t see because I’m only looking at the doorknob as said doorknob pushes ever close to the wall. And then it smashes against the wall, with my hand caught between the two.

“Aghaahaa!” A scream ripples through my throat, prompting me to then ask the most important question of our times, “The hell did you do that for?”

Her hands are now on her hips, and she has this weird glare on her face. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. She turns to her side and walks away, missing any opportunity to develop her character further with conversation. Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about her for now. Then again, who is this we? We is not this I. We is plural, yet I is singular. These definitely aren’t my thoughts, so I should probably actually consult my own thoughts. Yeah, that’s better. Much...much...better.

Something, or someone rather, nearly runs into me in this wide hallway. “You were running in a straight line, but suddenly you veered off to the left right into me.” I tell this mysterious person who has yet to- Oh wait, robes. Fraud. It’s the fraudulent psychic chick.

She raised up her head, revealing her face. My eyes are drawn to anywhere that isn’t her face. Her mouth opens, I’m assuming, because her voice replies with a “I had a sudden premonition of a scream just now,” which I readily respond with a stern “That’s just your ears hearing me scream” answer.

“Nonsense,” she tells me, “I’m the Super High School Level Psychic, if I’m not acute to these sort of oncoming events, then I am not worthy of my title.” I wave her off, to which she returns with a ninety degree bow. If I stood at the side of her, she would most likely resemble a six forty-five on a clock’s displaying of hands.

“I hear there’s a breakfast meeting occurring rather soon. Surely, I predict, they will not start with us late.” Her hands smooth out her dress as she begins walking over to what is the assumed breakfast meeting, but she doesn’t actually have dust on those robes of hers, which subtly reveals a manipulative side of hers. “Shall we depart to our sudden new life, stranger?”

“Yeah, sure. But we’re not going to be talking the whole way.”

Her face beams with this smile. I’m almost glad she doesn’t show her teeth with that- Oh hell! Hell no! Her teeth are white and perfect! That’s unnatural - that is something that’s going to draw my eyes to her- And I’m looking at her. Huh… Actually, she’s not so bad after all. And here I thought she didn’t take showers more than once a week.

After waiting for my thoughts to finish, she voices a grateful reply of her own, “Excellent! We’ll walk to the cafeteria, come in looking as if we’re friends, and then never talk to each other unless if it’s important!” She then tries to grab my arm, to which she succeeds. “I like the way you think, stranger.”

_...But I don’t like the way you smell._

[Exit Hallway]

[Enter Cafeteria]

Thank god that was fast.

Sugawara immediately parts from my side to walk to a nearby table occupied by Miyamoto and Watanabe, though not before waving at me. I return the gesture with a wave of the hand before walking to a nearby table occupied by Miyamoto and Watanabe.

Watanabe, our resident Super High School Level Culprit, has the perking of the ears as he hears the click-clack of my heels to the smooth white clean reflective floor. “Oh, uh,” there’s a nervous tone that comes over his voice, accompanied by him and his chair scooting backwards, with a Dreeeeeee! sound. “This chair is, uh, isn’t that comfortable…I should probably leave.”

My shoes immediately click-clack across the floor to position themselves behind him, to which I then scoot his chair back into place, with him plopped back into sitting position. “...It wasn’t comfortable because no one cared to seat you with warmth,” I tell him with an affectionate smile.

“That’s...totally it. Definitely…” He struggles to find the words to please my affection, yet little does he know that just him and I are enough.

I take a seat in front of him.

“Oh!” Miyamoto You. “Heya, Nagase. What’s shakin’ bacon?” The eyes roll - my eyes. Another foreign phrase foreign to us Japanese natives. He has this enthusiastic attitude towards everything. Cannot comprehend. Thinking back, I did say _that_ yesterday.

“Aren’t you afraid at least?”

“Afraid?” A chuckle erupts from that narrow-narrow throat of his. “I’m pretty sure you were only joking, man! Only joking. I mean, if you weren’t, I would probably move away from you and sit at another table.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Huh…”

He has that moment to think.

“On second thought, I think there’s a lot of things I’m going to say that I’ll probably never get around to actually doing.” His fingers snap. Once. Twice. Thrice. Quadruplice. “This seems like one of them - for sure!” Quintuplice.

“You know, you have this strange positive outlook on things.”

He waves me off. Before he even begins to speak, he waves over to someone out of eyesight. I turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it is. My sister’s there, but she’s not looking this way. “Hey, Watanabe.” Miyamoto’s voice pulls me back to him. “What do you think is the relationship between this guy,” and he points at me, “and that girl?” And he points at her. _Her._

“They’re brother and sister, of course.” And Watanabe shrugs hilariously. Damn, it seems like every simple thing he does naturally happens, when in reality he’s been planning every single one of his lines for quite the while!

The foreigner nods his head in agreement. It’s then that I remember something very important that I’ve yet to remember at this important moment.

[[Flashback]]

“They’re brother and sister, of course.”

And Watanabe shrugs hilariously.

[[End Flashback]]

Miyamoto’s mouth moves to speak words, but I’ve already deduced what he’s about to ask. Before he does, I must intercept him immediately. And so I intercept his mouth with my mouth…through words!

“I’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak the language,” I tell him.

A look of confusion spreads on his face, followed with the sideways glances and the ruffling of the hair, with the raising of the eyebrows, as well as the widening of the mouth. “Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh… But you were speaking just fine, I mean… Oh… Oh… Are you kidding me, man? Are you fucking kidding me?!” And then he’s shouting. “No. Just no. I’m not putting up with this shit.” And so he grabs the table and moves to another table, followed with Watanabe moving his affectionately warmed chair to that table.

And now I’m left with just myself seated on a chair and the chair that used to be where Miyamoto sat. Terribly awkward scenario. It doesn’t last long, because Miyamoto returns soon enough. Of course he would return. I’m likeable enough with that first impression I made with me and him. His hands move over to his own chair. “Forgot to take this with me. You can sit alone and chill while that happens.” ...And he takes the chair back over to his table, leaving me with just myself seated on a chair. Terribly awkward scenario. Pretty much. Pretty much.

I thought we were suppose to make friends at this point.

The sound of a fork scratching against a plate shrieks into the eardrums. A quick glance to the near counterparts of a rather conveniently long table reveals this morning’s culprit to be that Super High School Lev- that activist girl Chiba Asami. ...I don’t remember there being such a long table in this cafeteria. Where did they even get one? But yeah, her voice resounds off the roof.

“Greetings everyone! Your attention, please!”

She has no megaphone, yet her voice is booming. In her hand is something familiar. And then I realize it’s Noguchi’s paper-holding device. Not too far off the side is Noguchi himself, somewhat displeased. It looks like he’ll be seeing even more wrinkles and crinkles in the near-future.

“As de facto leader, I hereby declare myself de jure leader.” A wrinkle of the eyebrows follows. “That is all. Continue with your indescribable activities, proletarians.” She gives back Noguchi’s paper-holding device, to which Noguchi lightly taps her on the shoulder with it. 

But of course, someone has a question. They _always_ have a question, and all it does is prolong the conversation even more so than is absolutely needed. We put up with it, but no one speaks the truth. I want to speak the truth, but every time I speak I can’t think. Vice versa - I can’t think when I’m speaking. It’s the cursed truth of being me.

“But, like, I don’t remember us voting. Like, like, like… You know, like, shouldn’t we, like, have a nice round of votes from, like, a nice round of votes from us?” There was little to no need to put a face to this statement.

“Ah, yes - we did not call for this vote, filthy democrat. Ah, of course we did not. Ah-ah-ah-ah!”

Upon hearing these complaints, the activist’s palm interacts with her face. It resounds across the room nicely; clear enough for all to hear. Such a case regularly occurs when trivialities amongst the students are not described, therefore they did not happen, because the activist’s palm interacting with her face happened.

Surprisingly, it isn’t the activist who speaks, but rather Noguchi who does.

“Let us think about our situation realistically. Say we do have a vote. Now out of all of us, who is most likely to win?” The question is apparently a rhetorical one, but someone still begs for a question anyway.

“The fucking proofreader, right?”

Noguchi smiles terribly wide. “You would think it would be me, with my servitude and determined willpower, but alas our titles define our personalities - not the other way around.” He waves off his hand with hand, before then proceeding to speak, before then proceeding to be interrupted.

“Wait, uh, like, what happened to Ohno-kun?”

“What do you mean what happened?” Noguchi inquires, a hint of annoyance beckoned. “He was turned into a cyborg by Monokuma not even half a day ago.”

“No, no, no! I mean, like, why is he normal again?”

“Surely you jest.” He proceeds to point at the cybo- ...h-h-uman?! “I…” Noguchi’s word trails, despite being one letter. “How. When. Why. I do not remember this being a thing. I was so sure that you were…”

Ohno Masaya, the Super High School Level Tough Cookie, merely holds out his fist. Watanabe then gleefully proceeds to fist that fist with his own fist as the two fists fistbump each others fists until the two fists separate. And thus ends the fistful event.

“Monokuma said I wasn’t a cyborg anymore, so I’m not a cyborg anymore…”

Something is off about him.

“Fuck.”

It’s him.

“Verily,” the proofreader continues, “this conversation has been prolonged one too many times. I will proceed to give a synopsis just as soon as nobody interrupts me…” He gives off a silence for a couple of moments of silence, before then stating, “I’m waiting for it.”

And then someone interrupts him at the end of his sentence.

“Oh noes! Ohno-san!” It’s the Chiba. The activist. Speaking. “Get your dirty feet - I mean, your dirty shoes - off the table now!” And she points at the dirt. “How? Just how do you even do that? We’re locked indoors, like hell!”

“Damn no. I’m the damn Tough Cookie in this room - it’s practically expected of me to! Are you saying that shit isn’t to be expected from me?”

“I don’t care. I just don’t care.” And then she leaps on top of our long table. I would call her a hypocrite, but she’s wearing only socks. Not only socks, though. That would be too much (or maybe too little?) to describe. “You know what? Keep your feet on the table, but just not on my table!”

She then leaps off our long table and walks over to where Ohno is. There’s a quick exchange of words between the two, before Chiba starts pushing against Ohno’s table, which then reveals something utterly disturbing.

…

…

...This long table is actually just four smaller tables put together.

“And we’re done.” She then says after pushing Ohno’s table almost close to the wall. From a small distance, one can see Ohno a distance away from us at his recently reduced-in-size table. From a small distance, one can also see Miyamoto and Watanabe at said recently reduced-in-size table.

“Hey, hey!” Miyamoto, the foreigner, riddles with us. “The hell is the meaning of this? Are you trying to exclude _me_ from this group? Hell no. Just hell no.”

“Uh, Miyamoto-san,” Watanabe begins, his hands already moving his chair, “We can always just move our chairs over.”

“Oh yeah, we can always do that.”

And this is why we now sit at a long table together. 

However, Noguchi’s finger stares at Haruhisa’s face, prompting Haruhisa to speak about such a finger in front of his face.

“Ah, now why would your bony little finger be staring at me, best-selling clearance writer?”

Ignoring that last bit after the second comma, Noguchi merely tells him that he expected something generally snarky and asinine, to which Haruhisa replies with a polite “Ah, right. Ah, there was but one question I had. Ah, yes - this breakfast meeting is ridiculously stupid and contrived, and I want to leave right away, so give me a reason to stay - yes, please do - please do indeed - indeed - yes.”

Noguchi sighs out of disappointment.

“All I know is that the reason _we_ even have one is so that everyone knows (or at least thinks) that _people_ like _you_ and _I_ actually talk to each other. Outside of this breakfast meeting, you and I do not converse. Inside this breakfast meeting, you and I pass the sausages and enjoy buttering up each other’s freshly sliced biscuits. Straight off the oven.”

“Ah, but of course, it seems that you and I cannot possibly fathom a life without freshly buttered sliced biscuits, for that I will stay.”

“Clearly.”

And so ends our ridiculously weird meeting that we’re suppose to include in our respective morning rituals. I honestly don’t want to attend another one. Ever. Like, ever again. There are some people I generally just don’t enjoy talking to, and this breakfast meeting forces us to meet and greet each other like as if we’re actually friends. And we’re not. I don’t think us being locked inside a school will ever change that between them and I.

I don’t even know what Noguchi wanted to talk about. He probably forgot, just like how I usually mention things but never mention them again. There’s only room for one thought in one sentence. If I go over one and end up doing two, then I end up combining thoughts and wonder which one is the one I actually wanted to describe or talk about. I honestly suspect others have trouble differing to which one they’re actually responding to. At the same time, it’s a wonder how people know which one of their thoughts is being responded to.

Hmm…

To be honest, I don’t feel like walking.

[Screen turns to black]

[Nagase’s room opens up]

At least the trip didn’t take long. To be fair, I don’t this day is going to get any more important than this morning has been. Just when I’m about to doze off to sleep, something has to happen. The doorbell. It rings. There’s a doorbell, and it rings.

This is enough for me to carry myself off my own bed to investigate. The door doesn’t even have a peephole, but that’s good. I won’t get stabbed in the eye as I look through the glass if there was glass there in the first place. Even so, I steadily open the door. I don’t even have a weapon. There’s no need, because no one would dare to kill important me.

Outside the door is a Japanese kaiju.

“Oh… Well, uh, hi there, uh… You’re the specialist, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to visit me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you do that?”

“To hang out with my favorite person.”

“Right…”

Well, how about it? Should I let this monster run rampant in my room despite my strained relationship between her and I?

[Yes/No]

[Yes/ **No** ]

“Hell yeah, come on in and make yourself at home!”

Wait. What. No. I was suppose to say yes, not no. I mean, no, but I said yes! Her burly muscles pop inside my room, and the spectacular size of the creature begets nothing akin to that of humanly resemblance. She sits on my bed awaiting one thing from me.

My hand grasps the doorknob tightly, and it pushes. The mystery of whether the doorknob moves to the right or the left begins. And so it turns to the left...and it moves to close. I don’t want this. I absolutely don’t want this. But I can’t control this conscience of mine. I can only obey its inaudible command. It beckons. It controls. As the door inches closer to its closing, there’s only but a few words to be thought of:

_I decided to trap myself in a room with Ishikawa._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lying is the first path to thievery.


	11. Wharf Construction Site Development Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the past few days I've been working to get a job.
> 
> Turns out you work a lot more than you would think just to get a job.
> 
> Mad tons of thanks be to the proofreader.

“A height of a hundred seventy-nine, weight of sixty-seven kilograms, and a chest of...ninety-one centimeters…”

The monster hiding on top of my bed reads off from her electro-ID, electrocard, the student-identification-that-is-rendered-in-electrical-device-format thing. The details read are surprisingly familiar to myself.

“Nagase, are you aware that there are student profiles listed for everyone? And that they contain information on each one of us?”

That’s a thing? My hand hastily flings to my left pocket. But I quickly realize I favor my right over the left. The hand quickly jostles from the right to left until it finds its destination. I remember the last time I did something similar to this I broke my hand while reaching into one of my other pockets in an unsavory manner.

But anyway!

Device in hand. I quickly turn it on, looking, scouring, searching, and thus finding the dreaded information of I and everyone. Everything. Everything. It’s all here. My eyes part from the device to look at the very thing in front of me, and then back to my device. She must already know. She must know already that I…

“...I see you like your sister.”

“Obviously.”

“...It’s also listed here that you dislike your sister.”

_She knows._

She quickly pockets her device. “There’s quite a lot I can do with information...such as this.” There’s that motioning of the fingers, and she claps. She _actually_ claps. She damn well claps in my room. What a freak. “Soundproof.” Wait what. “This room is soundproof.” Oh. “We can talk here in private - no one can hear you or me screaming in agony.” Holy hell. “From emotional turmoil.” Oh.

“Wait a moment,” I tell her to wait a moment, “you’re coming to me, in my room, yet you don’t want to talk about yourself?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

There’s something seriously off with this situation. Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to lock myself in my room with her? Actually, now that I think about it she hasn’t made a move. Neither have I. The door is locked. She has every opportunity to kill me, yet she doesn’t. Even more so, she’s actually considerate. That’s...surprisingly human of her. I’m seeing her in a new light now. Suddenly she seems less of a monster and more of that as a human being. And… And… And...if she’s any part human, that means she can be killed! Killed! Barbarically! Decisively!

“Aha… Aha… Ahahaha… AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“That is disturbing. Please stop.” 

She hasn’t even moved one inch from the bed, and all she’s doing is fiddling with her short cinnamon-like hair. Suddenly she’s become something I can actually describe in more human terms. A girl whose figure is rather tall for those of her gender, yet is wholesome enough to be debated as female. Her clothes are that of the high school uniform, and she wears this uniform every day it seems. And it has long sleeves. I don’t like long sleeves. They give me goosebumps. I once had to wear this sweater once, and I wore it to sleep. All I could think about was the many threads trying to invade every pore of my body. The salesman lied when he said it was comfortable! Lied! Honestly enough, how can one wear this...thing every day from morning to night. It’s a disturbing thought just to be thought of.

But either way, she knows. She knows something that no one else ought to know but me. And if she knows, that means she knows. And if she knows, that means she can tell people about what I know that others don’t know because they don’t know of it yet out of acknowledgement. ...Lack of acknowledgement. That’s why it’s absolutely necessary for what comes next.

I need to commit the perfect murder… I think. 

How to kill someone anyway? I mean, there’s a perfectly good rehearsal on television for me to rely on. But how? Just how? Oh yeah, weapons. A weapon. I need to kill this person with a weapon. But wait. This is wrong. This thinking is very much wrong. I can’t just kill some random person just because, that would be rather nauseating and generally barbaric of me. That can’t be right. I mean, if I’m going to kill someone it can’t be impersonal.

“What’s your name again, specialist?”

“Ishikawa Kanako.”

Now it’s personal.

My feet prance around the room, looking around for something to do the deed with. The deed. Ishikawa looks at me carefully. “Are we not having a discussion?” She voices. My body shifts at a one-eighty degree angle just as imagined. These eyes shift from her to scouring the room. Now that I think about it, my room is pretty nondescript save for all the photos I’ve taken of my sister and the darkroom section I have in the corner. I think drowning via processing chemicals is out the question. So is poison. Dying from a papercut is near-impossible and just sad if it ever happens. Something else is needed.

I hand off her question with a wave. While proceeding through the doorway I tell her to “Wait a bit because I need a snack to open up with,” to which she replies with a “I’ll be waiting,” to which I reply with a “Yes you will.” _I’ll open you up good._ Hopefully she didn’t hear that last bit from my head. 

And the shutting of the door follows promptly. Outside is the dormitory hallway. Man, this hallway is red and dark. Color contrast is exceedingly horrid compared to the pure white-white hallways it competes for traffic with. Reminds me of this one time I was driving, except I wasn’t driving, my mother was, and I just like saying I drive. Probably won’t get a license until my sister gets one. But then I’ll have to wait for her to get a car… Oh but yeah, so I was driving, except it wasn’t me driving. There’s two convenience stores at a four-way intersection across each other, and both of them are run by the same company. At this point the most important question to ask is…

_“Do they even compete?”_

Dismissing the thought. The first place that comes to mind is none other than the kitchen. There is Storage Room #1 and Storage Room #2, but nope. I don’t know any other locations, and I’m too lazy to bother with the fancy thought of exploration. At least I have an idea. There’s something fairly attractive about the kitchen - easy to get to, easy to exploit, easy, easy, easy, easy, easy. Yeeeeeeees! This is already shaping up to be a nice-nice plan, and it’s simple to commit, too. Why, my victim is already in my own room, as if giftwrapped for me to open up!

Man, that definitely could have been a fantastic metaphor, but I made it into a filthy simile instead.

While walking along the hallway, with a tip-tap and a tap-tip to my step. Sugarwara comes into view. The psychic fraud she is. We don’t bother to talk, seeing as how nothing significant has happened or is about to happen. Just like we agreed. Other than that, I pass by the hermit and enter right straight into the kitchen. However, much to my thought, I find out a cafeteria is blocking my way. Damn these cafeterias! All they do is add one extra less important room just to piss off people who want to get to the kitchen, a more important room!

It takes a while, but now I’m in the kitchen. Finally. Just finally. I was almost about to break that long table into three smaller tables.

“Great! Nobody is here!”

“I’m here, though.”

Damn.

The nerves shoot up. My body flings itself in a one-eighty degree angle, promptly to face the owner of the voice that said “I’m here, though.” Watanabe greets me, and I relax almost instantly at the sight of his wide-smiling face. Man, he’s even in a better mood than usual. I tell him that, and he smiles even wider. How does his facial muscles even do that? Is this what it means to be double-jointed in the face? That’s silly. That’s probably not even even a thing.

“Quit showing up where I can’t see you.”

“Quit showing up where I can see you.”

He took out both an apostrophe and a t, yet it’s already shaping up as his own clever little sassy-ass statement. There’s not a hint of the nervous tinge from this morning, my guess is that his personality rebounds just like mine. At least we’re consistent in that manner. I mean, we would probably be less realistically human if we were inconsistent.

“So Nagase-kun,” the Watanabe, our Super High School Level Culprit, starts with my name, “What are you here for? You planning on killing anyone by any chance?” And he says this with that devilishly wide grin. Something about his teeth makes me want to snap one right off. My teeth aren’t even that white and large.

But of course, I need a response to his question, or his two questions. I think according to the social cues of our fair society, the first question is just filler material while the second one is the most relevant. And so I respond to the second.

“Yeah, definitely. I just came here to get something to use.”

It’s only polite of me to respond. However, Watanabe doesn’t even seem surprised, but then again, he must be used to such surprises so much that surprises don’t surprise him surprisingly enough.

“Huh,” indeed, “You know, I didn’t think you would admit it so openly. Your honesty is fairly admirable, Nagase.” He chuckles before then giving me the finger, with his pointer finger. “So what exactly are you planning on using to commit the dastardly deed anyway, you sneaky bastard you?”

My eyes dart about, desperate for an answer. To be honest, I was looking for a weapon, but I didn’t even have a weapon in mind. Who does that? Except me. I did that. I had all this time from the horribly contrasted dark red hallway to the pure white-white hallways to think about this, but not a good thought came to me. Actually, I didn’t even think about having good thoughts at all. Man. Just man.

It is then that I see something incredible shiny. My feet move about, moving forward about. The way it shines from the kitchen overheard light… Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... My hand appears in front of me as it lurches over, reaching, taking, grasping what I can only understand as that to be akin to a kitchen knife…

It’s a kitchen knife. I took it from the kitchen rack. I then wave it around Watanabe, showing him my first choice. “Hey, hey.” And Watanabe is already struggling to find his words. “Hey, hey, uh, that’s not a toy knife, you’re likely to cut someone open - like me right now - put it away before you hurt someone - like me.” I retract my hand promptly.

Such a sight prompts the scratching of the scalp from Watanabe. A small pause fills the room, then explodes. “To be fair, that’s a shitty weapon you have. It’s not only messy, but its location of origin is ridiculously simple to pinpoint to. No logical explanation, just eyes.” Oh Watanabe, you’re starting to sound less hilarious all of the sudden. 

“Are you criticizing my favorite weapon, Watanabe-kun?” I tell him. There’s an irritation to speak of. As I do so, I lay down the kitchen knife on the island counter, and proceed to spin it. It spins so fast, and it eventually becomes just black and silver. Two colors. One in the middle, one creating the outer circle.

“You have a shit choice in weaponry, Nagase.” Watanabe takes out a red pen and paper napkin from a napkin holder before then drawing a quick map for me on the counter. He points at it with the pen. “See this triangle and this circle?”

“But that’s not even a circle, it’s a crooked oval.”

“You know what it is.”

He then decides to draw more red lines that eventually lead up to what looks like a campfire. As he does so, my kitchen knife is still spinning. It does this beautifully. ...And it cuts him. Slightly. On the right side. Of his right hand. Wow. He’s bleeding a bit. There’s this snake sound that comes from his grit teeth. And he looks at me, except his grin doesn’t look like a grin. “Give me that, damn it.” He commands me, but then he just takes the knife off the island counter and sets it on another counter. Why make a statement when I’m not suppose to act on it?

Finally, he finishes all the red lines. With that red pen of his, he points out at both of the shapes again. “Triangle - me. Circle - you.”

“Why am I the circle?”

“Because you’re not in perfect shape, kinda like how you don’t completely get the metaphor.” He points back again to both shapes. “Triangle me is here in the cafeteria,” but not the kitchen? “and circle you is right over in the incinerator - this campfire thing here - actually I don’t even know why I drew a campfire. Weird. But anyway, from triangle to circle, this is how you get to the incinerator. You get what I’m saying?”

“That’s a shitty plan, why would I kill someone in my own room and then transport them to the incinerator?”

“What. No, it’s not about the transportation at all! And why would you kill someone in your own room? That’s stupid.”

“To frame myself and get away with it obviously, just like you.”

“That’s not...that’s not how it worked. I might have exaggerated a few details, but that’s not how it worked…” He scratches at the back of his neck, his eyes glancing to the side occasionally. “You know what? You just do what the hell you want. I wanted to take an interest, but I’m just going to get frustrated explaining something that’s simple as shit to comprehend.” He turns around to walk away.

“You’re so hilarious, Watanabe. I knew from the start I couldn’t take you or your jokes so seriously.”

Watanabe turns around and looks right at me. His eyes say nothing. Empty they are. There’s no grin. Just a gaping hole for a mouth, slightly open. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just shakes his head slightly before turning to leave, ruffling his hair furiously. 

I shrug. 

I shrug again. 

The kitchen knife is right on the counter where Watanabe put it, and so I take it and leave. And yet right after leaving through the doorway, there’s this sudden tinge of importance that goes along with every click-clack of the way. An air of excitement… It’s vibrant enough that my hand starts shaking, with the knife following as well. Holy ice cream!

Returning back to the room, Ishikawa is right where I left her, giftwrapped on top of a bed…metaphorically.

“You’re back,” she gets off the bed, electronic identification device thing in hand, and shows the screen to me. “There are but a few rules here on this tablet.” And on the screen is text. A careful examination of r, u, l, e, and s reveals the rules section. Man, I would read them, but reading is boring, so I’ll let someone do it for me later. Noguchi could probably do it, he has a pleasant enough voice.

“Those aren’t snacks.”

“They aren’t?”

She points at my hand. I look at said hand. It still holds a kitchen knife. That’s not a snack, that’s a snack-making tool. Why is it still out? I thought it went without saying that I hid it, yet I didn’t? I can’t believe I forgot to describe just how I hid it. I didn’t hide it. It’s still there. In plain sight. Wonderful. Swell. Brilliant. Why did I think this was a good idea anyway? This is shit plan. Wannabe was right. This is shit plan.

I need an excuse. And it has to be terrible.

“Oh wow,” I say terribly, “I was so engrossed in making snacks, I brought the knife I was using instead of the snacks. Careless me.” And I end this with the rubbing of the back of the neck for comedic clumsy effect just like anime taught me.

“What snacks were you making?” She asks me. She didn’t buy it. Of course she wouldn’t. Terrible excuse. Utterly terrible excuse. This must be the interrogation phase at work. She must be probing me for the truth, and so I have to think. Think. Think. Think. And I thought of it.

Screw all of it.

“I’m killing you!”

My grip tightens, with my left arm thrusting forward in Ishikawa’s direction. She’s of no match. I have the surprise on her surprise! ...But it failed. She jumped backwards, nearly smacking into my wooden drawers. This knife attack was surprisingly ineffective. I thought I had a type advantage over her, but now I realize my mistake.

“I really should use my right hand instead of my left.”

Switching of the hands complete! Now to think of how to get at her. The door is locked. I locked it. Ishikawa wanted nothing to spend time with me. I decided to accept it. Now I know why. I knew deep down that this was my opportunity to kill her. Damn, I’m just that clever.

“Why are you doing this, Nagase-san?” San. San. San. San. All of these honorifics. Why aM I pUtTInG uP WitH All Of THeM?! WhY WhY WHAYASH?

“It just came up! It just came up!” Of course it came up, because it came up! “Ishikawa-sama has information on my sister - no me! - me!” All of these honorifics! ALL oF THeM! There’s this need to PUrgE thEm all! From myself! From OtHers! Her mouth opens. That monstrous mouth. 

“Everyone knows, Nagase-san. We all have these things.” And she holds up the electronic device. But that doesn’t matter. 

“That doesn’t matter,” I tell her, “it’s just more of you.”

“The rules state tha-”

Making sense out of nonsense. Nonsense. All sense. It’s not even sensual. It’s not even practical. Personal. Impersonal? Or is it inpersonal? I’m thinking too much, and moving too little.

The knife plunges into empty air as Ishikawa leaps over my bed onto the other side. This room is suddenly so spacious. I hadn’t even thought about that. But it doesn’t matter. My feet land on top of the bed. I push off it, leaping forward into mid-air, as I feel the bed sliding back from Newton’s third law. My right arm arches back, armed with a steel extension. The motion I carry is accelerating. The variable will end with death, defying Newton’s third law. Where’s the force in that? THERE IS NONE! NONE OF IT! I’m making a scientific discovery as of now!

And yet somehow Ishikawa grabs my steel-armed limb. In mid-air? Oh yeah, in mid-air. She then twists her body around, and swings my body over her shoulder and onto the cold...hard hard HARD harD HArD HARD DRAH hard HARADDAADDDy carpet flooring. My grip loosens. The knife clatters to the side. Ishikawa isn’t done. She’s never done. Her grip tightens around my arm, and she lifts me up by it. I can’t even stand, but it slowly comes to me that I can’t as I’m flying across my own room and into a wall. Smack-smacks follow. There’s the occasional ouch from my throat. No dying animal in there, just dying me.

“Ouch!” 

Damn, that hurt. I don’t think I’m going to recover from this quickly. The scene isn’t even changing yet.

The muscular girl walks over toward me, standing over me. I don’t even know what she wants. I can’t exactly stand properly. “Despite everything, you really thought it was a good idea to plot murder against the strongest and most athletic person in the group on a whim?” Yes. Yes I did. And I reply with a casual “My steel will conquer your flesh,” to which she replies with a casual “You have no steel,” to which I reply with a vicious “Oh.” She proceeds to lift me by the arm. I don’t want her to touch my arm with her arm or hand or arm. But she keeps doing it! Holy. I can feel a vein popping in that arm. What type of girl even has veins? No girl should have veins! 

Ishikawa. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m disappointed in me, too.” Nagase.

She carries me over to the middle of the room. There’s nothing special in the middle of the room.  
It’s then that she lifts me up slowly. A ceiling fan comes into view. Oh. Now I see what’s so special about the middle of the room. I forgot about that ceiling fan. You normally don’t describe these things when you enter a room, especially one that you’re living in. I mean, that’s just how it is, and… 

Holy hell! It’s getting closer to my face! 

I don’t like it. I don’t like it. Holy hell. I’m going to get killed in self-defense by a ceiling fan! Damn! Just damn! “I don’t want this,” I tell her. Even a nice “Stop touching me. Stop touching me. I don’t want this. You’re not allowed to do this. All of it. Stop! Just stop! Let me go! Or not... I’m giving up…” doesn’t work on her. It’s a real pity because this ceiling f-

-Hits me hard. Hard. Hard. Not so hard to make me salkfjsdalfjmkdsljlgsdf out of control, but more so to invoke a “Wow, it’s surprisingly hard” statement from me. Also, it struck me on the forehead. Now there’s some imagery for me for later.

The fan blades surprisingly don’t kill me. Huh... Surprisingly. I thought I would get chopped off slowly like a saw. Guess not. Maybe that’s why they’re made out of wood and not metal. That’s smart of those guys who make them - those ceiling fancians. People won’t die like me, except I didn’t die and so it wasn’t like me because like me does not equate to the likening of dying as it is more to the likening of living. So it wasn’t like me, but it was like me. At least I still got my handsome head still attached. That’s good enough. Kinda. Maybe. I should get up, but I can’t. I got thrown against a wall.

_Again._

There’s a knocking of the door. Then there’s another knocking of the door. I swear, there’s been too many knocks in one door. The day hasn’t opened. I would open it, but I got thrown against a wall.

_Again._

Ishikawa desires to open the door, and so the door desires to be opened by her. Her hand reaches over to the doorknob and twists it open, or so I think is what happens. There’s this small hallway that leads up from my door to the rest of my room. Everything that happens outside of my line of sight is only assumed. The suspicion that this world is a false one constructed to condition myself to a false pretense is prevalent. Straight damn.

“Oh!” A sudden high-pitched exclamation rings out. It’s not Ishikawa’s. This voice belongs to a girl for one. If it’s high-pitched, then it must be a girl. “Uh, Ishikawa-san? I didn’t think you would be in Nagase’s room…” The girl voices.

“Nagase-san is indisposed as of this moment.”

Hell yeah I am.

“Indisposed? That’s, uh…”

“He’s resting for now.”

“Oh why’s that?”

“He got thrown against a wall.”

_Again._

Ishikawa decides to intervene with the smooth flow of the conversation. Instead of using the back-and-forth dialogue throwing sport like a normal person, Ishikawa decides to make another attempt at dialogue. “He’s still alive.” As if that was important enough. Ishikawa deciding to make another attempt at dialogue? She must be more self-absorbed than I thought she was. Trying to make it seem like she wanted to talk about me when she really wanted to talk about the talk that she wanted to talk about during our talk.

“Hey, uh, Ishikawa?” The girl asks this, however she doesn’t give the other girl time to reply. Rude. Very much so. “How about you and I hang out in the time being?” This time it’s a genuine question.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” with a genuine answer.

The two of them click-clack into the hallway outside my door in the outside. I’m left with my thoughts. I don’t like my thoughts. Fortunately one of the two comes back, and actually enters the room.

“Hey, Nagase-san. Are you okay?” It’s the girl. My eyes look up from the legs to the front. I blink. I blink again. My eyes blink again for reassurance that never comes and will never come ever. In front of me is not a girl…

…

…

It’s a guy.

Or at least I think it is.

“Hey, Inage. Are you a girl or a guy?” Honestly. He looks like both. Or she looks like both. Which one is it? What do I call something that could be a he or a she without referring to one of the two? Is there even a term for that? Somehow this is a surprisingly thought-provoking statement. I would have thought it more if only…

“I’m just your average joe. Your average guy, I mean.”

Goddamn social conformist.

Other than that, he sounds like a girl. I mean, he does. If it’s a girl, then it’s high-pitched. This converse statement isn’t logically correct. And they say mathematics is a universal language. Pft!

Thinking too much slows down my response, so I decide to respond to Inage’s question with another question.

“Get out of my room. I’m trying to sleep against this nice wall.”

He has this look on his face that reeks of surprise.

“Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll be going now. Hope you have a good night sleep.”

The sight of him is nauseating. I barely know the guy. Somehow I dislike him already. Somehow he shows up when I least want him to. Hopefully I don’t end up thinking too much about him. There’s this scientific notion that apparently proves the more you think about someone the more likely you’re in love with that person. That’s disgusting. Utterly disgusting. The only acceptable form of love is that between family. And naturally that love is spurned by the precious bond between brother and sister.

Oh yeah, he closed the door. Good. He probably locked it for me. I crawl around my room, like how a earthworm grovels for food bits even when dirt looks like food. There’s a shiny steel tool to secure with myself finding a need for it. Except it’s not in its usual place, or the floor it clattered on rather. It’s then I realize the gist of what just happened…

I got thrown against a wall.

I got thrown against a wall (x2).

It’s debateable as to whether or not I was thrown against it several times more or not.

There’s a lot of things I cannot remember.

Inage knocked and Ishikawa answered.

The two decided to...walk out of my room together… Out of my locked room. Out of the gift-wrapped present I had set aside for myself. Inage. Inage. Inage. Inage did this. Aaaaaaaaaaa!!! I’m thinking too much about him. Too much! But the more one tries to forget, the more one remembers. How to forget when it involves forgetting what you remember? No. No. This is fine. This is definitely fine. I can work with this. I can definitely work with this.

They also say that science has proof that the more you think about someone the more likely you are to despise them for all eternity and beyond eternity! Science proves everything. Inage is an inconstant variable that frequently steps in each and every trial period. In this case, it’s very clear what just happened when it comes to the application of the scientific conclusion:

_...Inage Kotoma just stole my kill._

And then I throw myself onto a bed and go to sleep immediately while repeating that very thought. Over. Over. Over. Over. There’s this little announcement that goes off in my head. The ears pick up on this. Are they listening inside or outside? The ears think outside, but the announcement thinks inside.

“Hey, ya goddamn normies. If you’re not murdering, then get to sleep already!”

“Okay.”

“That is all.”

“...Bitches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitches.


	12. Taking from the Wallet Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary.

Out of nowhere a red curtain appears in front of something. That something isn’t important. Somehow it’s important to note this is neither dream nor reality. Actually, it’s just fiction, and it just so happens that weird-as-fuck moron isn’t in charge of today’s narration. But I digress… The curtains rise, or they spread apart, or they burn to smithereens from a death ray. Part of posing as an intellectual is finding ways to regurgitate trivial things into thought-provoking bullshit. The masses call this creativity. I call this procrastinating.

Look at my lacking of professional vocabulary, I still manage to profess some metaphysical concepts for the peeps to salivate over. At the same time, I’m just bullshitting about what I actually believe in. Part of writing fictitiously is pretending these concepts you’ve garnered have never been used by anyone but you. But I digress...

Suddenly a bear can be seen as the light shines in the middle of the stage. Creativity dictates that we ought to make it so that the bear’s entrance is memorable, just for the sake of being original by being different. At the same time, people expect this bear to just be in the middle of the stage. Just being there. Waiting for its moment.

“‘Eyo, what’s up, ya bastards?” Very elegantly put, bear. The bear gives off a salute in some odd direction. Whatever direction that is has not been described. The mystery thickens. His gaze resumes about. There’s this wicked grin plastered on his face that’s described for loquacious purposes.

“Welcome to Part One of our Monokuma Theatre!”

“We have a show put out for you…”

“...a show about nothing!”

“Please enjoy the show in silent despair!”

Silence follows for the next fifteen minutes, or just three seconds. The audience would jeer, but the audience neither has a voice nor a fist to raise indignantly. And so the bear awaits an answer. This continues for what seems like an eternity - an overused simile (or statement?).

…

…

...

Holy fuck, this is boring as hell.

...

Okay. Good. We’re done. Or I’m done.

At least I managed to write a page before giving up. Spacing really helped. In the end there wasn’t a point, because there just never was an intended one. All that pseudo-background information given out? Or maybe I didn’t give any of it out… Meh. Just meh. Kinda too lazy to check back. But yeah, bullshit. All of it. There’s just a lot of crap one can put out in fiction that one genuinely did not mean any of it. I should probably rewrite that last sentence. But I’m kinda lazy today. Oh well.

To sum everything up:

Awesome possum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes.


	13. Obfuscating Environmental Awareness Committee Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out a hard-to-open pistachio is better.
> 
> Yeah.

“Ah, yes! Ah, the morning glory of a much heated breakfast item!”

Haruhisa Kouhei’s arms unfold, and his hands steadily wander. Finally, he sees it. A fork. A knife. A plate filled with scrambled eggs pinned together by two loaves of bread. He quickly grasps both fork and knife, brandishing them over the edibles. Slowly they are approaching, inching, extending, and…

“Uh, um, H-H…a-a...r-r-r-r...”

But there’s an interru-

There’s a jolting of the body from the chair, though it comes not from Haruhisa but elsewhere. A quick glance in its direction reveals the Kobayashi. “Holy hell, man. You did not tell me you had a ghost haunting your shoulder.”

There’s a look that’s given from Haruhisa - the usual look. Kobayashi withers, hoping that words would not come out of that mouth. “Ah, I would ask you to resume your eating position, but the savagery of you talking with your mouth full suggests a limited vocabulary; my semi-colon makes me better than you.”

There’s a pause followed by another pause. Words are thought of, yet never said. The audacity of the moment. The voracity of the environment. The velocity of the displacement.

“Uh, yeah…” The Kobayashi trooper scratches the back of his neck, then his scalp, and finally ending with the cheek. “On second thought… It’s just Mori-chan hovering over your shoulder.” He then begins to eat with a knife and fork, however he has neither at his disposal. He is a savage after all...

Haruhisa Kouhei’s arms unfold, and his hands steadily wander. Finally, he sees it. A fork. A knife. A plate filled with scrambled eggs pinned together by two loaves of bread. He quickly grasps both fork and knife, brandishing them over the edibles. Slowly they are approaching, inching, extending, and…

“Uh, um, H-H...a-a...r-r…”

But there’s an interruption. A most terribly obnoxious introduction - interruption. To deal with this properly, the Super High School Level Master Debater does the narrowing of the eyes, the raising of the brows, and the cocking of the head to the side.

“...r-r-r-r-”

There’s a hand of the slap of the table. “Ah, would you stop that already,” the mouth wrinkles in disdain, and the saliva inside sloshes outward, “if you’re to talk to me, then enunciate your words properly.” Mori Shiori wipes her face nervously, watery eyes hidden behind her eyes. She isn’t crying; there’s only saliva trapped in her eyes. “Ah, and it would seem you are in need of a maintenance, you mundane dial-up internet provider; I cannot even access the line properly without disconnecting my phone line thanks to your shitty-ass wiring.” He pushes up his glasses all the same, and so does Mori Shiori. The two share a ritual, yet are unaware of it all the same.

A banging of the hands on the table occurs. The eyes dart to the left, some would turn their heads, yet others are incapable of doing so at the moment. In their vision is their great and decisive leader Chiba Asami, and she is just about to speak the most thought-provoking words they will hear for the rest of the day.

“How dare a man such as yourself think he has rights! Inconceivable! Blasphemy! Utter corruption of morality!”

She stomps over to Haruhisa, and bangs her hands on his side of the table. Clearly Haruhisa did not hear her the first time despite looking her way. His head follows her hands from the table up to her arms up to her shoulders up to her neck and now up to her eyes. Somehow there’s a procedure to follow, and yet he follows it unquestionably.

“Ah, if it isn’t the office-issued stapler itself.”

“Herself, dear. Grammatical error on your part there.”

Flesh on glass interacts. The master debater clasps his hands shortly after, a brilliant smile on his face. Those pearly white teeth deserve to bite into those scrambled eggs...

“Ah, that is rather right; it would appear that I am wrong to assume an object acknowledges itself with a reflexive pronoun. Ah, yes… I give thanks to _myself_ for realizing this just now.” His hands are on his hips at this point. He does this for a while before then resuming an eating position. Fork and knife in hand, he eats diligently. The food is rather delicious - those scrambled eggs colored white - yes...

...And then they’re taken away with two spider-like fingers.

Haruhisa gazes at her, longing for the scrambled eggs as they remain scrambled.

“How dare you! Who do you think you are? People?”

Voraciously her mouth devours all on the plate and the plate. There is no white nor yellow for the master debater. He then slumps down his chair, the whole experience traumatizing. He will have to wait until his next meal is cooked, for it is out of character for him to prepare it himself…

Having finished ~~Haruhisa’s~~ her meal, a smile then plasters itself on the activist’s face. The great Chiba then goes into the detail of speeches before then delving into the contents of the speech. There’s a rush of awe in the students, as an hour passes before the point arrives.

“Seeing as how we’ve neglected exploring our environment for two days, we’re not going to explore it.” Once finished, she then proceeds to leave the cafeteria, a valiant march in every step.

“Well, at least we can relax and not worry about this place,” says the Inage Kotoma. There’s this grin shared between him and several of the students. Wakahisa replies how everyone probably thinks killing someone is worth getting executed for, prompting a laugh from Nagase. A funny fellow, that one.

Clitter-clatter of boots resound from the hallway, before the doors open by themselves with the sudden rush of hands pushing onto their very wooden structure attached to the hinges of the building itself…

...Which is concrete. That’s actually a quite hideous color scheme - wood and concrete.

“Grammatical error, proletarians!” Chiba’s hands rush out pointing at the students, and then into the hallway. “I meant to say we’re going to explore it, not we’re _not_ going to explore it!”

“Like, now?”

“Yes, Nicole.”

_...But no one knows who that is._

Several footsteps clatter the building on the polished tile floors. The floors, now dirty, beckon the attention of Chiba’s voice. “How are you tracking in mud already? We can’t even go outside!”

“There’s a, uh, a, uh, you know, a-a-a greenh-”

“There’s a greenhouse!” Says the Kobayashi.

“That’s very nice,” Chiba curt nods, her boots drowning out the sounds of others, “but what about it?”

“It has dirt!”

“That’s too much information, save it until we regroup.” She then realizes something. Every time they have a conversation, everyone stops. No one really moves, they just talk. “We’re talking too much and getting too little done, everyone stop talking and split up for reconnaissance - we’ll regroup back at the cafeteria, and once we all do, we’ll talk about our little adventures.” A smile erupts within the group, as each splits up to several different rooms.

It just leaves me all alone.

Here.

With my thoughts.

“Heya, Nagase-san! What are you spacing out for?” Miyamoto You. My favorite person right now. He always notices these things. Always seems like there’s not much point in hiding anything, from him at least. We proceed to walk to a nearby room, something not many people can do while talking.

“Not spacing out, just thinking, or more like just observing.”

This room we enter is empty. It’s a wonder why anyone didn’t enter first.

“Observing what exactly?”

“People. Lately people have been complaining that the conversations I have with them are awfully short, and they barely even have enough time to actually know the real me despite everything I say.”

“What about that time you said you were going to kill someone?” He said grinningly.

“Nah, they probably forgot. Honestly, they’re too busy tearing at one another’s throats to focus on a background dweller like me. I probably won’t even be relevant until they start running out of people to relate with.”

“That’s tough, actually. It’s a bit the same with me. Everyone assumes I’m a foreigner in the country I’m from, and when it comes to being in that said country, I’m still a foreigner.” He says this, all while leaning against the door frame. Man, the Japanese have some weird habits. “When they see me, they know. _They just know._ It’s honestly creepy.”

“Yeah… That’s actually pretty relatable.”

“Ha, you know what’s pretty relatable?” Please tell me. “Your sister.” Oh.

“You know, that’s not really fun-

“No, not that. I mean how she doesn’t talk to anybody who isn’t a Inage Kotoma.”

That’s actually true, and it’s a keen observation from Miyamoto. I didn’t think about this at first, but Miyamoto could just be my first real friend here, even with his oddities. I take out a small rubber ball and toss it in his direction.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The ball bounces away from him. I really shouldn’t assume that just because I do something that doesn’t mean someone will react the way I expected. Either way, he still talks further.

“I’m telling you, she seemed like this friendly girl who could sass you up as less than equal, but then it turns out you are less than equal to her when you’re not a certain prop.” His fingers trace the walls, peeling away at the paint. That tacky paint. “It’s like she’s avoiding us until we’re relevant to her.”

“My sister is a god.”

“What?”

“She’s god.”

“No, she isn’t. If she was, then Noguchi-san would be switching religions.”

“No, I’m telling you, there’s nothing more holy than her graceful existence. You can’t just tell me she simply avoids me. I mean, she does, but there’s always a grand reason!”

He starts scratching against his scalp, before then replying with a quick “Okay, fine - she’s god.” He shakes the boxes a little before then setting them aside, like a present rejected. “Man, this storage room isn’t much. Just a couple of niche items we’ll probably never use. Like that ladder.” And he points at it. “The hell we going to do with that? We gonna climb to the ceilings to escape?”

“Hey, but what if we just need to reach a shelf for an object?” A new voice enters the room. And a quick look reveals Inage. I just remembered I don’t like him. And so hostility becomes me.

“Hey, hey. No offense, but we’re tall enough to not require one, unlike you.”

He takes a step back, hesitating a little. Actually, he hesitates a little too much. It’s almost like he’s thinking about something before he says anything new.

“I-I didn’t mean it that way! Honest!”

“Don’t worry about my friend here,” Miyamoto says, a smile on his face, “anyway nothing really interesting is happening here. Just boring old boxes.”  
“Is that right...?” The smaller boy inquires.

“It’s right… Huh...” And he pauses, considering, “Actually, now that I think about it, I didn’t feel any dust. None of my allergies are acting up. Someone’s obviously been maintaining this room for a while, could even be longer.”

“That’s actually suspicious…”

“Right? Anyway, don’t worry about boring old boxes and shelves...and dust. We got this, yeah?” He quickly gives him a thumbs-up. Inage seems like he would do the same, but something embarrassing probably keeps him back. Fucking do what you’re thinking already. Or just leave. Just leave. Just leave. Damn it. Just do. Now. N-

“Okay, that’s great, I’ll be exploring more now. See you!”

“See you, man!” Miyamoto tells him.

Damn. Yes. Thank you. Actually, no thanks from me. Get the hell out of here. Out of the room. Good. You’re out. Now I can breathe. Breathe great and strong. Okay, I’m breathing good now. So good. Very good. Much good.

Eventually the room just ends up being boring, and we end up going into the room next to it. Miyamoto notes how someone scribbled over the nameplate with what looks to be permanent marker, and I tell him that’s my doing. He asks why, and I give him why. Then he says nothing, so I say nothing. We eventually leave that room too since we realize how boringly identical it is to the room next door.

“So I’m telling you,” as I, Nagase, puts it, “Inage-san is pretty friendly and all, but that’s really it. He doesn’t make any of us laugh, and he’s not especially great at anything. He’s kinda boring in a way.”

“Well, you know,” Miyamoto begins, “he’s definitely a good guy, and I think that’ll get him somewhere at least. Not everyone has to be totally impressive to be interesting, right?”

My hand meets my fist, and a flesh-beating noise can briefly be heard. There’s something I can’t agree with on about that point. “Oh come on, Miyamoto-san. He’s abnormally plain and unattractive. I’m telling you he’s the most sexless guy we’ll ever meet.”

“You sure about that? I mean, your sister seems to have a thing for him”

“There’s no way. Absolutely no way.”

“Hey, man. She hasn’t even tried to talk to any of us seriously. Anytime we’re even in a conversation with her, it’s because Inage is present. You seriously haven’t noticed that? Like, at-”

I turn to him, a bit annoyed by his lecturing. “How the hell should I know about that? I can’t describe what I can’t see!”

“But it goes without saying anyway, that people will just end up doing things without us seeing, right? I thought you knew that?”

Right. Maybe. I wouldn’t know. Sometimes I think this world is just a hugely architectureded structure built on fooling me into believing I’m actually living a life. If I killed Miyamoto, would he bleed out blood or just metal bolts? I take a look at him, examining that prominent jawline of his. I bet he could stab somebody with that. Probably could. I should poke it.

“Stop poking me, man!”

He’s rather dismissive of it…

Going back to that past conversation, “But anyway, my sister will _never _have a weird relationship with that guy. It’ll never happen. _Ever._ ” Being serious. “He’s more likely to develop a relationship with that sweaty-ass hoodie of his than her.” I swear, he wears the same one every day, like a morning-to-night ritual. Probably even sleeps in it, I bet.__

__“Huh. If that’s true, then that’s especially reassuring for me then.”_ _

__I look at him, and he looks at me back, grinning. “Bad joke,” he tells me. “It better be,” I tell him, a certain venom seeping into my words. But him and I already seem like decent friends, as friendly as friends go. We decide to walk to the laundry room, and it’s there we see several faces._ _

__“Well, well. It’s my good friends coming to greet me!” Watanabe. As for the other guy, Kobayashi says nothing, just looking at our conversation._ _

__“Watanabe-san, how you doing?” I ask him._ _

__“Pretty pleasant, to be honest.” He gives the room a quick round of gazes before returning to the conversation. “If I had to say, this room is spectacular! Enough appliances to efficiently clean up a corpse even!”_ _

__The laughter begins. Aha! The laughter ends._ _

__“Uh, yeah.” Miyamoto. “So Watanabe, has anyone else come around here yet?”_ _

__He shrugs as if he doesn’t have answer, but then it turns out he does have one. “Inage was here a while ago.” He tells us. How? What? “Yeah, he was wondering how to work these washing machines. Which is weird, because even poor people who need to go to a laundromat for one know how they work. But hey, now he knows because good guy me told him how.”_ _

__Before we voice a response, Watanabe he shows his watch to us without a word, muttering how important is to keep one on you for important events. Kobayashi comes up to check the time with us, and we figure it’s already time to head on back. The four of us party up and venture to the cafeteria labyrinth._ _

__Along the way, Kobayashi mutters shit about lampshading Occam’s razor and Chekhov’s gun. I tell him that none of us would know about any of these weapons from his geek fantasy role-play shit. He then replies with “Literal-Minded.” My head implodes from the cringe._ _

__Once there, we’re the last ones to enter, early enough to have heard Chiba Asami declare the meeting. There’s that “First order of business,” stuff she spouts, demanding information from all the search parties._ _

__Ando Risa raises her hand beautifully, “We, like, found a cafeteria, yeah. That’ll definitely be most important of all, I think!”_ _

__There’s a response of clapping from not several, but one individual. Noguchi._ _

__“How pleasant. Now we can eat here just like we did yesterday.”_ _

__“Thank you very much, Noguchi-san!”_ _

__“Uh… That wasn’t- Actually, nevermind - it’s not even...important...enough...at all.” Yamaguchi tells her, disappointed._ _

__“Nonetheless,” Noguchi begins, “I would like to report that I have also found something much important than a cafeteria” Suddenly he starts chuckling. It’s almost like he’s convulsing, yet he’s doing it so casually. “It’s a kitchen!” He says, his finger raised, this wide grin on his face. Not one of us finds it funny, just weird. “Apologies, except I’m not apologizing,” the proofreader says, now with this smirk spread wide, “the Author left this opportunity to be taken, and so I took it.”_ _

__“Dude,” Kobayashi, “that’s just too-”_ _

__“Leave it, you two!” There’s the realization that there’s too much talking and less point-making. Someone else come forward!” And yet no one does. It’s almost like a classroom full of students, except it’s just a cafeteria full of them. There’s a ruffle of the hair before the finger waves at one of them. “Fine. Inage-kun. You’re speaking.”_ _

__“M-Me?”_ _

__“Yes, you. Now make it quick!”_ _

__“But wait, I wouldn’t even-”_ _

__“QUICKER! NOW!”_ _

**-TIMESKIP!-**

…

...

Chiba: [pensive look] Wow, Inage. You just made this meeting incredibly short.

Kobayashi: [pointing, decapitated] Yeah, man! We were all suppose to do this as a group, not have one of us drone off with a detailed list!

Nagase: [shivering] I’m telling you, somehow he’s explored everything in the span of minutes! [shivering] A complete monster… Ahaha...

Nagase: [more shivering] ...Aha.

Ando: [fistpump, cheery] Yeah, and some of us, like, have only explored one room!

Harahisa: [smug anime face] Ah, but a useless room… :)

Shiori: [downcasted, blushing profusely] Uh, um, so if we have nothing to talk about, then what do we talk about…?

Chiba: [pensive look] Well, there is that thing... 

Noguchi: [arms on his hips, dismissive] Ah, and what is this _thing_ you speak of, Yamaguchi?

Yamaguchi: Huh? Me? I wasn’t doing anything.

Chiba: [pensive look] Me. He meant me. 

Chiba: [pensive look] Anyway, we’re going to be looking at the Electro-ID, or whatever the hell you guys like calling it. Personally, I think it’s just a smartphone the size of a graphing calculator, but only I think that apparently. Anyway, as-

**-TIMESKIP!-**

“That was utterly pointless. I feel like we’ve heard this before somewhere.” Miyamoto states the obvious, making the obvious exceptionally more obvious. “It’s not even worth describing.”

“Well, thank you for your time,” Chiba’s boots click-clack across the room, the sound ricocheting off the walls and into our ears. Her hands connect to the doors, pushing them open, and then she’s out of the room that she was once in at the time before she opened the doors. Before she does all of this, she says one last choice word.

“A rather unfortunate outcome,” Ishikawa echoes.

“Glad we avoided the other infodump, guys.” The Kobayashi complains. “I actually bother to get acquainted with my technicalities, you know?”

Yamaguchi eyes gaze dead-on at Kobayashi.

“No, I don’t know. Actually, I don’t even know what the hell type of talent yours is suppose to be.”

“Ha!” And Kobayashi actually laughs. He scratches his chin, “I’d say it’s much more...memorable than yours.” And there’s the grinning from him.

Yamaguchi bears no response, but the urge to kill rises.

...

At one point in my life I wanted to become an astronaut, but then I learned that only the wealthy apply. Actually, I’m wealthy, but I can’t apply. There was also this one case where I was eating a marshmallow and it burned my mouth. There’s that other time I was microwaving chocolate out of the freezer, and I forgot to take off the paper, so it caught on fire. But I had to hide the evidence, so I threw it over the fence into the abyss that is a ditch.

Sad day.

Nobody really says anything. Not like they need to. My thoughts are with me, but then they’re not. Boredom settles in, and somehow the plot isn’t going anywhere. In fact, it needs to stop. It’s like how the other day I saw my lovebirds flat at the bottom of the cage. I thought they were dead! Nope. Turns out they were just eating at the newspaper underneath, and nobody thought to feed them - not even me! It’s one of those trivial things that gets done but would otherwise not be explained. Why would anyone bother explaining it if it goes without saying that someone would know otherwise.

“Who even has the right…”

“Hey, Nagase-san,” says Inage, concern for me. But I don’t want his concern. He doesn’t deserve any of it. He definitely does not deserve it. Well, I don’t, and he does. Oh, what, no, that’s… Aaaaaaaaa…

…

“Nagase-san, are you doing all-”

AAaAAaaaaAAAAaaaaSFKAIREDASFSDOIFEIOTTASFJKSDHGIEJOIEFDSKLVLKFOIETJPOEJFUISDJKDSNV!#JKDSHGISDJFOISE@#JTIOE%JGUIOSF^@IOSHGKSDGKJDSHGIOWRIEUISIUFDHFKJDSNFJDSNGFJFGIJKIAWDWH@@@KLJF($*AS)SF)!!@$*)(_DFSDF)JSKORIEKLASD())#JKDC*(G)(ERW!!K?SAFDSFDGSAFDAKSJDFJ()WRI(O#%U*(#TEKJGFIEJOTOI$TJIOHNKDJGJHSDJKFLASDASFLKJFOISEFOIDUFOIUE(R##%#AaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaaaaaAAaaAaAaaAaaaaAaaaaaaaaAAaaaaaaaaaaAAaaaaaaaaaaAaaaAaaaaaa…

“...Screw off, I’m leaving.”

Conclusive paragraph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost got named "The Other Infodump." 
> 
> The clever in me actually went against the proofreader's advice. 
> 
> Like, yo - great advice.


	14. Bullshit Motive Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why was my mid-term for Cultural Studies a two-pager? 
> 
> Thanks to that, I'm now passing. Just great.

The speaker crackles to life.

“‘Eyo, bastards. I see everyone is all alive and well, as always.” 

My friend. The bear.

“With that in mind, it’s time for an announcement from your beary best Headmaster Monokuma! Attendance is mandatory! Be there or get shot! Upupupupu…”

Barely any two steps taken out of the cafeteria. No time to recover. The doors fly open behind me. My fellow peers pour out. Each does their own respective characteristically catered action respectively so to their very personas. Noguchi comments that it was about time they finished up with this segment. Inage walks through me. Everyone just walks past me.

Black. Then the auditorium.

I don’t remember us having an auditorium. Where’s the gymnasium?!

“Oh that is so simple of an explanation, Nagase-bucko-yo~!” Kobayashi lands onto the floor from the ceiling, hands extended to the hips. He waggles his trademark finger. Bucko. A confident smile on the face, he talks more and more and more, “And so! To conclude this valuable segment! This auditorium is not only just an auditorium, it is also a theatre, a cafeteria, a basketball court, a volleyball court, a rally point, an indoor soccer court, and a dodgeball arena!”

“But no! Is it also a gymnasium? Yes? No? Yes? Yes?”

“That it is! Multi-purposeful building structured for cheaply made purposes, it is! My, if we had our school branching out, then they would be cheaply made too! Think about the food! It’s like having bread every day! Except said bread is so solid you could basically have rock fights, and even commit murder with them! Fun times!”

“Fun times!”

“Fun times!”

We do this several more times.

“Fun times!”

“Fucking shit, Kobayashi!” Suddenly there’s this newfound bonding experience between me and the Super High School Level Tortoise. “There’s been this bizarre red kid on television that keeps popping up, talking and stalking, and people think he’s suddenly important enough to be more unimportant than impotent! Scary stuff! Like, like, like, like, do you have an opinion on this or something?!”

“It’s the start of darkness…”

“Damn! Damn it all!”

Few more exchanges are made, with little consequences through each. The Ishikawa monster stares at me. Kappa. It’s not exactly as terrifying as it was before. That joke died so early I stopped thinking it was hilariously horrifying. Over in the corner of my eyes I swear there’s this sea of tortoises carrying away the other students. Turns out it’s just Monokuma being Monokuma. How great. He grins a lot even when screaming at us to kill one another. He may be menacing, but he sure does put a smile in our hearts. Oh, and Kobayashi moves away in a 90 degree angle fashion as more important character interaction takes place.

“So, let us get this straight.” The Noguchi intervenes, “We’re to kill one another? Didn’t you already tell us this before?”

“Yes! Yes! All of you bastards should already know this even before you pick up the dreaded book! This time I have a motive, because none of you schmucks ever commit murder in three days! None of you ever do. Ever. Ever!” The Monokuma grins as soon as he stops grinning. “All of you are too busy trying to be so important in so few words. Well, you can’t! One of you is gonna be quickly forgotten since there’s only fifteen of you bitches!”

“Uh, but there’s actually sixteen of us…”

“Anyway! You know what? Screw the motive! Today’s motive is no motive!”

“I counted twice…” That voice again? This medication fucking sucks; I feel stupid as hell now with these voices trying to remind me of how things are when things should be how they’re not and undescribed.

“Wh-What do you m-me-” Adorable Shidori inquires nearby, as my hand reaches out for her. Naturally she’s bashful as she backs away. Of course she would! It’s in her nature, and all the more cute of her! Gosh! And then she talks!

“I wish I had a girlfriend like her sometimes, someone better than my sister!” Gosh! Look at those levels of bashfulness. She just went from one wall to another wall! So moe! Aaaaaaaaaa~

Several levels of coughs are heard.

“Bitches…” The bear starts, “So you hear that? No motive. No matter how many questions you ask. It’s gonna be no motive. Like, why the hell you even asking? Celebrate already. Except I guess you bastards won’t. So many of us have already been through this part, but you guys can’t keep up with the rest of us because of your sorry-ass excuse of first times!” Claws unsheath.  
“Damn, why can’t we just rough you up so we can wrap up this gentle first-timer infodump bullshit! Then the interesting parts could happen already!” Claws sheath. 

“Anyway, bastards. Here.”

A knife clatters down on the ground. It’s a kitchen knife.

“Oh, like, that’s a kitchen knife right?”

“Ah, we use it to cut foods into food slices.”

“A valuable tool wielded within the battlefield that is the kitchen presumably - fuck yeah.”

That Monokuma launches itself in front of us. Where he came from originally isn’t really described, but it’s not like having a script describe it would ever really describe it.

“Make sure to put that in your kitchen rack mounted on that kitchen wall. Someone will always need it to murder someone. Guaranteed!” That shiny bear says. “For some reason, students have a fetish for knives when it comes to murder. Comes with the plot device, it does!”

“Oh what?” It is now that Activist’s turn with this “he said this and she said that” routine... 

I just want this to all end. Why am I stuck with these voices in my head? Why can’t I just be like any normal insane characterized guy and just have thoughts that tell me what to do? Why do my voices have to constantly tell me what I’m doing or what I’m seeing? Or the worst! Describing every single thing that I don’t do or see! No! No! 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...

@$U*&Q@$&*%U#EYFES*IFUNSKFJRWKHWIODEWEUIBOOK@$IURIUFEDF@$*(U*(%Expenses@$*U(*ER%#GO@*%)(&*Ay378423i59r0efgdsgHUNDRED348539439634609DOLLARS358947605946i-3r21sfsdgEVERY234835943679832798SEMESTER@$*(%*(@$&*(%(@YOUSEETHESFAWDKSAHSTRESSSSSS!!!!e8ruw89ur53485uj34i8t5ujdrfikgm

...ck.”

My thoughts are THAT disorganized, and no one seems to care!

“How vulgar thou creature can be, I hadn’t a turn even yet to voice thy opinions!” ChibaAsami turns her head, heels clicking on the floor. Pivot. Tempo. Flutter. “Simple tactics, Monokuma dear. You seem to offer us all the solutions. Now please see us fail when we take away every kitchen knife within the vicinity that is this school.”

“Oh good, finally someone can be a bit more original and join up with the bin of less original characters who decided to be different.” The Monokuma waggles its finger...it doesn’t have fingers. It’s an arm. It waggles its arm. It’s a he. Not a it. Bad. “Then again, it’s not like you’re that different. It’s also not like most of you who talk are a protagonist. For some reason, you guys are usually way more proactive in this part than that hairy key bastard is.”

“Well then, with that motion of yours now said,” she bows with a little pull of the dress. There’s a word for that that I can’t use the internet to search up right now for. “Tally-hoe!”

“Tally-hoe,” He responds. He gone. He gone. “...Bitches.” Now he gone.

Our de jure leader turns about, turns around, the directing-about beginning starts now in the later beginning. “Hes. Shes. Theys. Hersheys. Move out and take away all kitchen knives within this cardboard playhouse! Nobody is allowed to even play with crayons when murder can be drawn with them! Go! Go! Go!”

…

…

…

Waiting around. Waiting around. 

Oh hey, there’s Inage coming down the hall. I’m facing him. He be running. To me. He gonna talk to me? Naw, he gonna go through me. Now he through me. Now I face him while he does not face me. He does not have a back. Not a strong one at least. Or any back at least. Man, I should move around while he’s not around me. It’s not like my actions are dictated or anything because of him! Nope. Nothing at all.

So knife. Knifes. Wives. Or Knaves. Laundry Room check. Couldn’t talk to Masamusa though; him and his stare don’t agree with my persona. Semi-colon. Plus, I don’t think there ever will be any interaction between us that is anything close to civil-worthiness. Anything beyond that would be crack-induced. Either way, No knives here!

…

…

…

Can easily fill a page of my routine just by doing it all like this. No motive is best motive. Best free time is less free time. Classic quotes by classic me. The more clever originality that spurs from this freedom of will of mine, the more praise and admiration I deserve to be amounted to the point of epitome delicacy. I should be a star. A Hoshi star.

Oh fuck, this tortilla I ate out of the tortilla holder is giving me a slight stomach pain. No plecebo effect. Should really heat up food in a microwave or oven before eating it if it’s been left out overnight. Wow. It hurts. Now it gone.

This library does not look like a place to put a knife. Do people carve into these books with a knife in order to place a knife within this book? What do you call books that used to be books but are just hollowed out for a weapon? Hollow books. Aha, nope.

A visit to the cafeteria reveals Haruhisa and Chibasami together. One of them travels quick, and she does it with heels. “Ah, allow me to finish, would you care?” The boy’s kitchen knife is taken away from him. “Obviously not,” that leader type says, “if you’re to eat with a kitchen knife, then you will just have to eat with your hands.” Hearing his eyes go wide, “Ah, but that is savagery, the bane of all civility that is human and just and nothing primal alike!” 

I hear less of this conversation as I head in the kitchen. “Savage befits thy man!” Turns out kitchen knives dwell within a kitchen rack in the kitchen room near the cafeteria that is in turn near the kitchen. I point out this kitchen detail to the kitchen people who are currently in the cafeteria, so they are now to be called cafeteria people instead of kitchen people for future reference. If they stepped in the hallway, they would be called hallway people.

Chibasami praises me, “If you ever commit murder, Nagase… I will commit murder against you, and I will execute all of you and survive.” Those are the type of sacrifices a leader is willing to make for the moral betterment for that which is our group.

I decide it’s best not to respond to that with a response. It’s a pretty rational decision considering myself. Now that I’ve stepped one foot into this hallway floor, I am not half-hallway and half-kitchen. And now I’m in the hallway. I am now a hallway person indeed.

On my way out, I see Miyamoto’s character model talking to an empty space. Probably Inage in front of him. The most important event itself has not started, so anything more than a two-way conversation is strictly prohibited. Very boring. No one gets to describe much outside of this standard. I avoid the two and head on over to my room. Someone can ring my doorbell and talk to me. Turns out no one did. Not even Ishikawa does that. I thought we had something, her and I. It must have ended when my murder intent was _fanned_ out by her… Nobody is going to talk or remember about that…

Sleep comes.

Sleeeeeeeeeeeep

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

And I’m awoken by a scream. I quickly jolt up from the bed. Did someone die already?! Where? How? Why didn’t I do it first?!

Ding. Dong. Dang. Dong. Ding.

“‘Eyo bastards, how are you enjoying your new alarm clock. It screams for help every time it’s time to wake up. Upupupu… Terrific, right?” Terrific! Scared me to death. “Anyway, ya bastards. Don’t waste your semester idling around waiting for the big chance! Make that chance possible! Now get murderin’ already!” Since this is apparently fake…

“Bitches…”

...Let’s milk this and experiment.

The opportunity arises. The door jams right open. I’m in the hallway screaming murder. “Oh no! Ohnoes! Oh no! Someone help! It’s! Oh no! Horrible!” Someone indeed answers, except they question whether it is Ohno Masaya that is. Fucking hell, I keep forgetting how many puns we can do with him and Miyamoto You. Because of that, my terrific plan just backfired.

“Damn it, psychic fraud. You should already know who died!” Turns out that someone questioning about Ohno Masaya just ended up being our resident fraudulent psychic girl, Sugawara-chan. I now proceed to look at her.

“That is not how my powers work. However, just for you, shall I kick you up to the ceiling now?” She tilts her head in a cute way. That’s…not moe at all... 

“Stop that already,” I tell her. 

She heaves out a sigh, saying how her talent will never amount to anything productive when it comes to stopping murders. Why did they even think it was a good idea to have someone who literally does nothing. Does the Author not have any good plans for her. Has Noguchi been right all along with his zealot logic? She’s just there to be there? If that’s so, our god is awfully fucking lazy as hell. Turns out some people are-

“Okay, okay. Okay.” I say, interrupting my own thoughts. But even so, I need something else that’s at least entertainment-worthy. And so, I talk to Sudowoodo-chan about theorising. Apparently, she doesn’t believe in it, because she already believes in what doesn’t need theorising. Spirits away. Spirits there. Spirits here.

Something fast and fake will be great. “We go to the kitchen.” Brilliant and simple. “A kitchen knife stabbed them.” Also brilliant and simple. “Who do you think is mostly to be victim?” I ask as we head on over. She nods her head instead of shaking it. That shouldn’t qualify as a response, but I take it as a no anyway. Leaving it at that is best, because I’ve ran out of answers for my own questions. Another first in a long time. Brilliant. Also not so brilliant. “Okay, the victim is a she.” She seems to agree. There’s something about girls dying first that really brings out the protectiveness in us all.

Along our way through this dusty brown hallway, Mori Shiori comes into view. Her cutesy figure comes into view. The way she adjusts her glasses. She’s like a little squirrel. Squirrelly-squirrel. 

“Oh my! Shiori-san!” I tell her. “I am so glad you are not dead, because that would make me very sad indeed!” 

She turns around and looks at me, something about opening her mouth, and then I speak again, “Hold onto my hand,” I give out my hand to her...and then I grab her hand immediately into mine and never let go until our wedding day comes. Her eyes go big, she becomes bashful, and there’s something about us two running off in the hallway together, just the two of us ~~and Sugawara~~ together as one. Our hands now joined. There’s something special about this moment. Hopefully she feels the same.

Mori.

Shiori.

The heart flutters. The way she makes me feel. I’ve gotten this close to anyone but my sister when it comes to remembering their full name. Hopefully she remembers my name. Hopefully she remembers her feelings for me. And then I realize, that I should start calling her by a first name basis now. Shiori… We’ve grown past formalities, us two.

“Shiori, I-”

And she punches me in the face.

“Ow! Ow! That hurts Shiori, but thankfully my sister hits-”

“Shut up! Shut up! Holy fucking hell shut up! Shut up!” She heaves heavy breaths into the air, and somehow this petite girl begins exerting the presence of a bull. “We are not that close! At all!” What? What is this? “Every single time I speak around you, you interrupt me! And you think I like you, because I stammer sometimes?” I nod at her while grinning. “Of course,” I begin, “Of course I feel tha-”

“Screw off! You only assume I’m a shy person, just because you interrupt me every time I want to say something! Do you know who I am?” You’re Shiori Mori, this cute girl that can never do- “I’m the Mori-fucking-Shiori, and I’m utterly nauseated toward the notion of being victimized by creepy-ass men making me the object of their petite asian fetish!”

“Fetish? No, no, no, I love how shy and delicate you are, you’re so ge-”

“Fuck up! Shut off! I don’t need your pity, I get enough of that just from being labelled a victim. At least pretentious asshats can figure that out! You want to know how ridiculous the amount of victimization I go through is? Try living your life carelessly after you get taken hostage because your father forgot to pay the monthly water bill! Try not being mistaken for a cheap doll while on a grocery run, and then they try to buy you over the counter! While you’re protesting! Do you know how many people don’t listen to me?”

“I listen to you,” Sugawara says smiling.

Shiori glances at her, “And I love you for that.” Her glances turn back at me, still on the ground. I should pick myself up, been on here too long, and so I do, but then I don’t because she punches me back on the ground with a quick “Stay down, damn it!” Ow. Ow. The verbal abuse hurts the most. It’s a layer over the pain of it all.

“Almost none of you listen to me! But fuck all of ya! All of you are going to start listening more and more to me! Mori Shiori will now be free to interrupt other people! No longer will it be the other vice-versa bullshit way around!”

Wait. 

Wait. 

If she’s acting like this, if she’s not acting herself, then she could easily die. This is a trend in manga and anime, isn’t it? This counts as sudden character development! It could happen. It really could. She could be dead soon. “Shiori. You need to stop, you’re going to die if you-”

“Oh hell no, you are not killing me.” From out of nowhere she produces a kitchen knife. Oh. Oh. I must be the first victim. At least...if it’s like this, then this girl can give me a moe death. But then someone ruins the dramatics of it all. Unfazed, Sugawara touches Shiori gently on the shoulder, “I would not do that, dear. I could be considered a witness if you did that. Besides, trash should never be left strewn on the ground when ripped open.”

“That’s savage,” I tell her.

And then Chiba appears from out nowhere from outside of my vision, takes the kitchen knife from Shiori nicely, calls me a savage creature to my face, disappears, and nobody says much about her, not even me. Eventually Shiori and Sugawara get tired of seeing pathetic me on the ground and leave the trash to go share a learning moment in another room. They don’t exchange much words with me, and I’m too busy in my thoughts to care now. 

I don’t feel like getting up… Rejection itself is paralyzing… It hasn’t been this bad, not since the time when I blew up that bus while trying to get to Hoop’s Peak Academy. If I hadn’t blown up that bus, we might be sixteen and not fifteen. Akishiro Wada could have lived to be a passenger on this ride. Turns out in the end he rode the bus to his death, like a true Super High School Level would…

Never liked the guy.

This floor is getting hard and smoother than usual. Eventually the depression kicks out, and my mood swings to a one-eighty degree angle. Kobayashi would say 180, but one-eighty is nicer-sounding. Too busy lumping over to the cafeteria to notice people chatting about. Is it morning or noon? I don’t know, I don’t keep track of time for others, others keep track of time for me. Speaking of which, they didn’t give me a nice clock on the corner this time around. For some people they do, but not for unimportant me. Not like it makes much of a difference, I wouldn’t see it ticking much until some important event occurred. Not that a lot of things are important enough to occur.

But why should I care. All I ever did in my spare time is mess around calling myself important while being unimportant. My older sister even has her life together despite being younger than I. The other day, some people decided to give me a dog to take care of for a month. No problem I said, but then it turns out even she doesn’t want to look at me, kinda like the birds that won’t look at me. A lot of animals actually hate me. I must be an awful person, but that’s just what others say. Not me! Definitely not me! I’m just repeating the rumors that come around and go.

Heave-ho! Up the floor I stand up on.

What was this room? It’s not really a room, but it’s just a hallway. Hallways can’t be called rooms. Nothing happens in them anyway. Not even a murder.

Several steps forward leads back to Miyamoto. No Inage jutted out of that figure of his. Great. Just what I wanted. Unsarcastically so. A couple of looks between him and I lead to a couple of smiles between him and I. The bonds that we share is the hope that is shared between true friends indeed.

“Nagase-kun, how are you?”

“I’m pre-”

“Hey, I don’t usually use this sort of honorific a lot, do I?” And he interrupts me with an answer before I can say my answer to a question that will never be answered. Conversations flow, but the moment someone attempts to swim backward, the water unfriends you completely. You die a social death from then on. Such is the life of the school of fish.

“Well, not that that matters. I got a real bad feeling about today?”

Oh? Why is that?

“You know, because today is the last day.”

Already?

“Yeah, already.” 

Damn, he must be the real psychic amongst us.

“Wait a minute…” This time it is Nagase doing the talking and not the Miyamoto. “What exactly were you talking to Inage about?” A tilting of the head leads one to consider the confusion relayed from his face. Finally he responds, “We talked?” What?

“Come on, man.” I tell him, filling my head with thoughts in my head of him talking about Inage while talking about whatever it is he wanted to talk to, all while doing so comfortably within the talk itself. “I saw you getting comfortable with him, you were even...smiling with him, you never do that with anyone else but me!”

“Ohohoho…” A weird laugh he makes, “You aren’t envious of a little interaction if it’s not between you and I, are you?”

“N-No, not at all - not at all.”

“Ah, who cares anyway?” He says with a shrug. He starts walking away from me, before then stopping. “Aha, sorry about that. I was just walking off without asking first. Did you eat already?” I quickly confirm the negative. “Then I’ll make you some breakfast. Well, for the second time - Haruhisa-san took extras after his little excursion with our fabulous de jure leader.”

Before I can tell him anything else, someone taps me on the shoulder. Quickly looking around, there’s someone who I can’t say yet before I then turn around back to Miyamoto’s direction. He is already gone. Already gone…

But no matter. My gaze turns back onto the other person. “What is it you want, Ishikawa?” I ask her. She isn’t really surprised all that much. For the most part, she’s too large for surprises, even in built.

“Someone hurt you. Did they?” There’s just that curt response. Momentarily, I just don’t feel like exaggerating a response this time around. Incidentally, any joke I used to have that would joke around in my thoughts is suddenly more than just lame - it’s unfunny.

“That’s a shocker, this behemoth suddenly cares about its food being played with by others.”

“You did not have to say that.”

She’s right. I didn’t, but I did anyway. Either way, we do not speak much, not even of our enforcement of the murder prevention program yesterday night. Our shoes guide us elsewhere… Speaking of shoes, hers are unnaturally larger than mine. They say that big shoes mean big feet. What a truth that is.

As we enter the kitchen, we nearly trip over a dead body. Whoever did it must have been really irresponsible… Oh… Wait...

And it is then that I realize… The situation in front of us, it just became real. This murder game demanding a murder just had the closest thing to a friend in this game...killed. There he is lying flat like distorted cardboard…

“Oh hey, Miyamoto… 

You’re dead...”

You’re dead... There’s a knife jutting out of your chest, it’s an unnatural thing to see, you know... You’re... dead because of that. Why did this happen? I thought our de jure leader Chiba Asami took care of our kitchen knife crisis… Why… Why did this happen…?

“Hey, Miyamoto… Why are you dead…?” 

And he doesn’t even answer, not even this time for unimportant me...

A look to the side reveals a table, and that table reveals something that I’m all too familiar with… A sandwich almost ready to be served on a plate. “...I didn’t want a sandwich.” Maybe if I had clarified a food item that didn’t require as much preparation, Miyamoto would still be alive… But he’s dead, and it’s then that I realize…

He made a sandwich.

Suddenly the murder weapon is even more clearer, and it hurts that we had forgotten all this time to not even notice a very simple fact...

_...Butter knives are also kitchen knives, too._


	15. ...I ran out of cliches for titles

“Oh hey, he’s, uh, dead…”

Again.

Nice. 

I mean, I thought we got rid of all the kitchen knives, but hey, he’s dead, by a kitchen knife no less. That’s something… The hunger in me goes unsated. I’m starting to think I don’t actually care, but what I apparently think states otherwise. Not of the body, but of hunger. Ishikawa suddenly decides to speak up, disbelief drawn out within her own dead eyes. “We must do it. We must get everyone together. Let not Miyamoto be like this.” 

If only Ishikawa had died instead… But we can’t always have that, so I quickly tell the Ishikawa to get out of here while I deal with all of this. It takes an hour before the story progresses elsewhere, but I manage to summon her elsewhere. I take a step forward from the entrance to the middle of the room where Miyamoto symmetrically lays.

He’s right there. Dead. Laying flat. Just dead. Much dead. There’s just the stare from me to him. His dead eyes refuse to look at me, floating up the skull they do. If it wasn’t for that knife jutting out of his abdomen I might have thought he was standing up. He'll probably stand up sometime soon, I bet. Always. There’s not enough time, so I quickly make a sandwich and get out.

I quickly dash out of the cafeteria, a journey to be fulfilled. Ishikawa is nowhere in sight, which is good, because that meant more dialogue options between it and I. There’s no epic of a battle between man and man-beast, yet the tension exists. A step over a tile, a step to the balcony. Our lives draw themselves together. The hallway gives appearance to someone else. I quickly find some girl whose name I’ve already forgotten. “Oh, it’s, like, that, huh?” Her reaction is of disbelief. “Well, if it’s like that. Like, I’ll just stay here and fix my make-up, yeah? At least I’ll be beautiful in death, like, yeah?” Yeah, this girl is definitely going to be fucking useless at the trial.

Superficiality dead. Strides toward the next trial that is our journey. In the laundry room, we quickly find someone. Nobody is found. That was not very interesting to talk about. Moving on.

“Inage.”

At the sound of Ishikawa’s voice, my head turns about, spotting the Inage Kotoma. He rests his shoulders uneasily, as if he already knows something. “Y-Yeah? What’s up?” Ishikawa quickly relays that there is something he should see, something terrible. A huge gulp is unrealistically felt rather than heard. Inage quickly shuttles behind us, as we lead him to Miyamoto’s body…

...And miss it.

“Don’t you know where the kitchen is at? It’s left, not right.” I quickly tell him, to which he responds with a simple “...There’s so much to take in.” No excuses, this one gets. Even went to a private school that taught exactly this. Oh hell, I just realized the behemoth has been with us. 

No.

And now everyone is here.

No.

“This is, like, your fault, Chiba!” Yamatatsu points. “Thanks to your brilliant-like plan, we have a murder from, like, like, like…”

“It’s a kitchen knife.”

“A kitchen knife, yes, like, yeah!”

“Hmph!” Chiba hmphs! “Your leap in logic is weak, it lacks order.”

“Ah, shit, I wish I could, like, kick you to the ceiling already!”

“Aw, damn. Which one of the three said it?”

And now Monokuma is here. “Bastards.” And now he gives this huge-ass infodump about how many rules we have and how people die when they can’t comply with the rules properly enough. “Monokuma reserves the right to include any rule in his rule, bitches.” I could make a whole good page on this to increase the word count, but not today, so it didn’t happen. Instead of that, the peeps be getting just this description from me. How nice. Several days later I still do not like this description from me. Still nice. “Bitches.” And then Monokuma is gone.

Chiba Asami gathers everyone together, just to say a few words.

“Okay, everyone. Bad news: Miyamoto is dead. Good news: Miyamoto was a boy.”

“Ah,” the Haruhisa begins, “so you mean to say that without this male of ours, there is now less boys to prey on the vulnerable girls we wish to protect, you mean to say, yes?”

“Precisely, Haruhisa. This only brings forth the protective instinct preserved within us all. For once in our lives, you and I are on the same page.”

“Ah, that is delightful, you inaccurately one-minute-behind clock.”

“Nauseating. Utterly nauseating.” Nauseated, Noguchi steps forth, a hand waved off to the side didactically, “A man is dead for the sake of emotional impactment, yet he dies in a fashion not entirely suited to his character but more so for a collaboration of plot devices to be examined. There is no justice to be done for him, not unless if we progress with this contrived plot of ours. I say we investigate, as the monochromic one suggests.”

Chiba waggles a finger, “Did I forget to mention that Miyamoto was also a foreigner?”

The room fills with gasps from such a revelation from several others. Noguchi, however, proceeds on with a calming tone. “For the writer’s sake, that was both his title and basically his entire characterization. Were any of you even aware that he was even remotely Japanese at all?”

The room fills with gasps from such a revelation from several others. Noguchi, however, proceeds to have his fist meet his face. 

“I believe we might as well proceed toward investigations, yes?”

“Of course, whoever said that,” Noguchi says to himself.

“...But it’s me.”

“Oh right, it is you. ...How am I suddenly forgetting you?” Confusion plasters about on the Proofreader’s face as he talks to something invisible. _It is invisible, I think_ He’s silent for but a few, before then continuing. “Not sheer blasphemy, just sheer anomaly…”

We stay like that for a couple of-

**[INVESTIGATION START!]**

...Wait, what?

“Nagase…”

Someone’s voice speaks of me. A quick turn-about reveals no one… Huh, I must be imagining things. For a second, I thought someone said my name not just once but also twice. And there it is again. I do not like these voices, they make me feel self-absorbed. 

“Why don’t you investigate with me?”

And there it is again. Damn, it can’t be always about me! Why can’t it be about the others? I can’t always be more interesting than them anyways. I do not like these voices, they don’t talk about anyone else but me.

Before the whole gang splits up for clues, several persons are assigned to become a bodyguard for the body. Body. Guard. Ohno-san is selected first. No surprise. Ishikawa is selected second. Also no surprise. Someone suggests a third bodyguard, as there could be an accomplice. A bear shows up to dismiss this. It’s suicidal, the bear says. Everyone naturally believes the bear, and the topic is never brought up ever again. I guess we’ll be missing the opportunity of being original for once.

My genetic coding doesn’t allow people like me to leave the room, so I just wait around with the same sullen face I naturally wear over my skin. Eventually Inage’s arrival allows me to emote. “Miyamoto-kun… He was something close to a friend. I never quite had a lot of friends ~~except for my sister~~ so this is a bit hard on me…” More than an hour passes, and we’re still on that line of thought. Our dialogue eventually gets a click. “Sorry, Inage-san. I don’t feel like talking.”

“I know how you feel, Nagase-san. Miyamoto-san was also an important friend to me.” No he wasn’t, you two barely even talked more than twice. “I understand your pain very well, the pain in losing a valuable friend.”

“It’s pointless… If someone like Miyamoto-kun can die, then… Then we’re just going to end up dying either way.”

“No!”

“Eh?”

“Miyamoto-san was a valuable friend to both of us. No, he was everyone’s friend! For his sake, we have to investigate. No… For his sake, we have to find the truth!”

Inage’s voice is a comfort, and it stirs something in me.

“Yeah…” Yeah, he has a point? “You’re right. You have a point. We can’t just escape from this. It’s our responsibility to find who’s responsible.” The pump is here. My finger waggles, invigorated. “Besides, I have a little sister who needs some living.” And then the feeling darkens along with the expression. “...But not with you, of course.” (O)_(O)

“Uh, y-yeah, of course…”

“But yeah, about Miyamoto-kun. Him and I were together, last I saw of him. He offered to make me a sandwich, see? I was feeling pretty down and all, what with Shiori-chan punching me straight in the face.”

“Wait. Shiori-san did that?”

“Oh yeah she did, and she was quite the striker with that hand of hers.” The arms clench themselves in bright warmness. “Ah, she certainly did well, those hands of hers! Just so much… Ah...”

“That’s, uh, reassuring… Thanks for your testimony, Nagase-kun.”

“Anytime for a new best friend!”

A gunshot rings out. My instincts take over and I quickly shoot for the floor, dodging out of the way of any other incoming bullets. Chiba-san decides to give a quick scolding about that. “Nagase! Quit dirtying yourself on that floor, you’re spreading filth on the corpse!” Indeed, Miyamoto’s corpse is quite warm. He probably didn’t die not too long ago. I brace myself for another gunshot, but none of that happens. There was only one shot. Waiting around for someone to talk about nets nothing, so I ask a question to our local activist, prompting her to threaten to sue.

Moving on.

“A gunshot, you said?” Noguchi seems perplexed, which he is. “Nagase-san, have you been right in the head since birth?”

“People are so gullible, I once convinced several classmates of mine that a certain brand of chocolate mix I use is actually a drug that keeps me high.”

“What a dizzyingly intellect you possess. You continue to amaze the average population with what manner of repetitively irrelevant information you deem necessary to convey. Tell me, oh fellow classmate: Do you ever stop to listen to the shit you spew forth?”

“Not of course! I find it tends to mess with the general rhythm.”

“Outrageously unexpected. A comic relief’s life is most possibly your role to fulfill. You will be quite consistent with your inconsistencies, but soon enough your general demeanor will falter, and soon the core persona will be exposed.”

“No.”

“I am telling you I have some semblance of what divination lays forth for you, take it as it is.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“There will have to be a lot more thanking for you to do, but your gratitude is duly felt indeed.” He pauses for a bit before continuing, “Those who seek His word will have to wait until next week...or next month.” And then Noguchi Wataru is gone.


	16. Too Obvious to be Obvious Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Attorney Finger-Pointing Shout-Out Cliche.
> 
> That type of stuff.

“...And holy hell, that ceiling fan is too damn large.”

Look at it. Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. If I put my head to that, chop-not. Decapatition. Decapitation not to happen. The waiting room grows increasingly large, and as usual the Inage Kotoma arrives the last in this room. He gives a quick “Sorry I’m late,” to which the usual banter follows where people criticize how their lives are abouttobeonthelinefor the current setting.

“Lateness, by come, is almost a social stigma by itself, dear Inage-kun,” my sister tells him, “but it’s okay to be different.”

The elevator opens for everybody but Miyamoto. He’s dead, by the way. He’s not missing much from what he isn’t experiencing, I’ll say that. Our best friends pledge is starting to die down, and in its place is revenge… Not really. Friends are dead. Done. He’ll have to find new friends, just like I need to. Or not. It’ll take a couple more of these trials before everyone else becomes friendless enough to be friends with me.

The elevator opens for everybody but me, so I kick the elevator bars open and take my place on the stand. Kobayashi is in the way, so I kick him 23 degrees back to the next stand. He eventually tilts to a 47 degrees times Sin over hypotenuse on his new stand. I don’t speak in vague terms when it comes to measurements, mainly because my geometry teacher - bless his old-ass heart - taught me not to use my eyechrometer. Removing threats geometrically now comes natural to someone such as I.

I quickly glance at Watanabe.

“You’re innocent,” I tell him.

No reason for this.

“Yeah, I totally am! Thanks for believing-”

...At all.

“You’re wrong! You are so wrong!”

Ow. Ow.

The cringe hurts the ears. They bleed pink instead of blood, possibly because of the sickness within us. I’m lying about that last part, but the first one should be true. ~~Monokuma, however, has none of it, “Hey, who told you bastards to speak?!”~~ But he’s not important so he’s ignored for now. Yeah, that’s some good penmanship of mine right there...

“Heeeeeey! Ya bastards! This is one of the only times I actually pop up and rant to you losers about despair!” Someone gives him a quick “So what? We’ll never lose hope, never! Never!” And that’s it for the bear, he executes the guy on the spot. Goodbye Inage Kotoma. Except it doesn’t happen, and the bear is just kidding around at this point. “I can’t kill you yet, you’re too interesting to die, ya damned lucky bastard!” And then after this we never talk about the time Inage could have died.

Monokuma gives this lengthy lecture for us newcomers. That’s it. I’m done. He also mentions that killing someone too early hurts character development, but that’s it. We’re done.

**[TRIAL START!]**

Oh! Oh Yeahyeahyeah!

The bear swings his gavel, reducing the noise to noiseless. We all stand in this crooked oval-styled courtroom, wondering just who is going to talk first. There’s the occasional fidget here and there and the casting of the eyes, but someone is finally brave enough to break the silence.

It’s not me! Aha!

“Er… How do we do this?” Yamaguchi pitches herself in, yet no one comes forward. She suddenly feels awkward, beaten, sadden, depressed… Her hands go over her head, clinging to them. She said something wrong. She begs everyone not to mock her for being so useless, like the useless person she is. ...Man, this is going so well in my head right now.

“All right, fuckbags!” A steamy passionate voice resounds off the walls, its owner Mori Shiori begets attention to herself. “All of us are gonna damn-fuck take this bitch from the top to the bot-tim, guilty then innocent! I want answers from all of your filthy holes, or I’ll fill ‘em with my fists! None of this silence bullshit! None of it! Am I right? Yeah, I’m right.”

“Wait. Wait. What?” There’s shock around the room, with a Tamaki Nagase...my sister taking effect. “How are you- What I mean, I mean, I thought you avoided people and talked in a super-super quiet voice? When did you suddenly change personalities?”

“It’s called a paradigm shift, honey.” Sugawara answers for her.

“That, that doesn’t even make-”

“Oi. Oi.” The petite girl folds her arms in disdain, “We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout me now, ya hear? While you’re constantly drabblin’ ‘round drill bit boy next to you - and he actually is next to you - I’ve actually been talking to people. People. Actual people. Not uninteresting blank-slated guppers.”

“What the hell is a gupper?!?!”

“Well, I ain’t damn well explaining one word all day, so use yours eyes for something other than decoration and look for clues. Actually, we’re past that, so fuck them clues! Noguchi, you’re going to explain this shit right here! Now and now!” The proofreader simply points at himself, unsure if he actually heard his name right. It doesn’t matter, because he’s talking anyway.

“Oh man, this is making great drama all right!”

“Lay down and die like a dog, Kobabechi!”

…

...

_Hey. Hey. Hey. It’s me. Now I can finally use this time as an excuse to talk and explain the rules. See. We got this screen here with words on it. Now all you gotta do is read it. Reaaaaaaad. Aaaaaaaa If you’ve been doing that well enough, then good. It’s easy enough. If not, I am going to be deeply concerned… But hey, it’s… Haaaaaaaaa…. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… Right.r ight. Don’t worry, everything is right. Actually, everything is right. So right. Lot of right. Aahaahaá. Just gotta make sure to read, you? Right._

**[Nonstop Debate!]**

_  
**Bullets: Nagase’s Testimony**  
_

 

Noguchi: Our victim is that “foreigner” Miyamoto You. Are all of you seeing these air quotations I am making over the noun foreigner? See at it carefully, because I believe all of us already have a motive conjured involving said noun.

Sugawara: Discriminatory action?

Hirahisa: Ah, of course, I can see much **prejudice from our student body…**

Hirahisa: Please, continue forward.

Kobayashi: ...It’s not Kobabechi.

Watanabe: My guess is that whoever committed this crime **really hated people who weren’t Japanese!** Heheheh! Yup! Of course I’m right!

Noguchi: You know…

Noguchi: I do not usually admit this, but logically speaking, everyone is a clear winner today with their observations. Today’s truth is clearly that of subjective nature. Truly.

Nagase: Hey, wait, where do I get those things that help me shout over my opponents?

Noguchi: Oh you are so clueless, Nagase-san. You literally are, because **you did not pay attention** at all during the-

 

**Nagase’s Testimony - > you did not pay attention**

 

Nagase: Take your damn hands off of her!

 

**_BREAK!_ **

 

“I am not a she, Nagase-san. Do not interrupt me again.”

“Not you, him!” My finger slices through air, pointing at the Inage Kotoma. Ka-cha! That damn satellite boy puts his hand down reactively. “Damn straight! Now keep it down by the waist!” He gives me some half-assed answer like how he was going to defend me by moving his hand to pointer position to say what I already know, and I don’t just want to hear how he tried to steal my moment just a moment ago. Ka-che!

“Anyway, I did pay attention! I investigated and learned of a testimony! Namely… My own!”

“Oh pleasant,” Noguchi folds his arms in approval, “you learned how to remember your own words. I think I will write your name down twice in my notebook for twice the approval now.”

“Yeah, yeah. So about my testimony!” I quickly raise my hand to my chest, bursting it forward in exaggerated confidence. My eyes close. They then open. “I was with Miyamoto before the time of the murder!”

“You…” Ohno begins, “You mean you murdered him? Like, fucked him up and all?”

“Oh yeah! I- I mean, nonononono-no! None of that! I mean, I was with him before the time of the murder, not during the time of the murder. That would make me a culprit! A culprit! Oh noes for that. None of us want that. None of us. None of us. Except me. Maybe me.”

“Just spill it already.”

“When I last saw Miyamoto, he was real nice about everything. Guy offered to make me breakfast, so I let him do so. He went off to the kitchen and that was the last time I saw him.”

“And what time would you say this would be, Nagase?” Chiba inquires.

“Time? I don’t keep a watch. How should I know?”

“Then you’re very much still a suspect.”

...Still a suspect. But wait, there’s more!

“Yo. Nagase Hoshi here. My alibi is that I was with Shiori and then after that I was with our resident specialist Ishikawa. Now you can’t accuse me! Aha!” Take that college debt! You can’t accuse me of not paying back my loans, can you? I’m still in college, so technically I don’t have to pay my loans! Ha! Ha! Aha! This is the clevermost idea I’ve come up with! Maxed-out credit cards. And it was from me! Me! Burn the house down, The clever one! Take the insurance. Aha! Fake my own death and live out my days on a tropical island. So damn creative of I.

“...Could there possibly be a way we could determine the validity of Nagase-san’s statement?” Yamaguchi inquires. “Well, for one, someone has to explain how Nagase was bruised up real good in the face.”

“Ohoho…” I’m saying, “Someone here should speak up, and by speak up, I mean Mori Shiori!” My hand casually points at the adorable Mori Shiori… To be fair, she lost a couple of affection points from last time, but that’s fair. “Like, speak up... Up... Up... Up... Speak. Up.”

“You ain’t tellin’ me what’ta do!”

“Oh, well then I always have Ishikawa to just say yes to half-alibis!” My hand quickly makes a fist up into the air, and then said fist transforms into a finger that points. It points at Ishikawa… I forgot her first name. Kanon? Kanako? Cannonoko? But wait! Not important! And now she delivers the answer I expect most!

“No.”

“But yes!”

“No.”

“Why not!”

“Not the time. Must not interrupt this suspense level. Was trained. Specifically to detect and not interrupt suspense levels. Against nature.”

“Fuck your nature!”

“Against nature.”

AaaaU@$SFDSVALSJNFKASJFKSAJCIUAHWHNWAKIDAAaaaaaAWWRSAFasf@!AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAWWHYASfSDDSASFUEWHKRAJSH@SFASXFAACOLLEGEASkCKNZXMASSWDKAHWWHYYYDOOOOYOUWEAFKJFDFKDJSBASFDOOOOEFSDGASKJBSTHISSS!

“J-J-Just save us some time, Shi-Shi! ...Uh, Ishi-Ishi? Come on...? We’re going to take a lot longer because of-”

**[Nonstop Debate!]**

_  
**Bullets: Nagase’s Testimony**  
_

 

Chiba: And if there was **actual proof that Nagase wasn’t involved…**

Nagase: Look what you two did! We’re already starting!

Hirahisa: ...It still would not explain the bruising on his face.

Hirahisa: Right?

Yamaguchi: That’s exactly it! He must have **struggled with the culprit!**

Ando: Or was it him **struggling with the victim,** yeah?

Kobayashi: Or maybe… Just maybe…

Nagase: Now that I think about it...

Kobayashi: It was **a struggle with his own self!**

Yamaguchi: …!

Kobayashi: …!

Nagase: They kinda only gave me one shot at this, didn’t they?

Tamaki: Of course it was that!

Tamaki: He struggles enough to almost remember we’re even having this conversation!

 

**Shiori’s Hostility - > actual proof that Nagase wasn’t involved...**

 

Inage: Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Nagase: Damn, you’re a rude boy.

 

**_BREAK!_ **

 

“Chiba-san…”

“Yes, Inage-san?”

“You’re forgetting that there’s something else particularly uncharacteristic. Namely, that something is a someone.”

“Are you quite sure? It would do you well to know I’ve listened all too well to everyone.” Her face is not only smug, but she looks smug. “It wouldn’t bode well to go against the order of things, yes?”

But Inage is unaffected, he ignores it in fact. “I’m talking about Shiori-san. Before we discovered Miyamoto as… Well, you know… She didn’t speak or talk the way she does. In fact, she was never this hostile to Nagase at all.”

Chiba gasps. “Oh… That… That’s… I didn’t listen in on anything like that.” 

Yamaguchi gasps, her mouth covering her face as everyone’s vision clouds itself with Shiori’s bespectacled face. Awe. “You, you don’t mean she beat up Nagase-san, right?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! It makes sense when you think about it.”

“So Shiori-san,” Noguchi begins, his hands already begging to write her name down on his notebook about, “Is this true? Did you actually inflict this bruise? …I would suppose you did, but this is only me inquiring for the sake of those who never question. They are the bane of legitimacy itself, by the by.”

“Yes… Someone did beat ‘im up.”

Gasps follow!

“But only because he deserv’ed it!”

More gasps follow!

_That victimized girl just victimized me..._

Someone claps their hands in the room. Then they do it again. Now they speak. “Brilliant!” And then they clap again. “You have done all of us a favor, and though your actions were wrong, a great many of us commend you. Utterly brilliant of you!” That was my heavenly sister speaking. Everyone else agrees with her. Not me. But with her. 

Always. 

Always. 

Always. 

Always. 

Always. 

Always...

“Ah, but Nagase’s name is still not cleared.” Says our Master Debater Hirahisa. “The bruising does not deliver an alibi, it only widens it by the scar tissue!” Oh he’s fancy with his metaphors. “We’ve proven he was there with our Super High School Level Victim, but where was he after his encounter with our Super High School Level Victim?”

A silence follows, to which seems like a good sign for me to give said answer already.

“I believe. My answer. It may hold truth.” Ishikawa states bluntly.

“Yes! Yes! Thank you! Now I don’t have to say it! Take it away, you loveable kaiju!”

“But first. We must debate.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhh Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Noooooooo! No! Absolutely no! Please just no!”

“It is. Only. Through fair debate. We shall find our answer.”

“Ah, quite right! I do believe in what the peons call **fair debate** as being most suitable for finding… This answer.”

**[Nonstop Debate!]**

_  
**Bullets: Nagase’s Testimony**  
_

 

Sugawara: **There is a wind, and it howls…**

Nagase: Fuuuuuuuuuuuu...

Sugawara: Oh that wind, how it sounds as if it were talking.

Nagase: ...ck.

Shiori: Okay! Okay! Spi’ll the noise, we need to get to the bot-tim of this!

Ishikawa: We must know. Nagase. Did he have an alibi?

Nagase: **You’re my alibi, Ishikawa-san! You were with me!**

Yamaguchi: Once we solve this mystery…

Yamaguchi: ...We can easily solve the next!

Nagase: Damn it, Inage! There’s your answer! Just agree with me already!

Noguchi: **Blatant ignorance through misunderstandings...**

Noguchi: They never forget to be amusing.

 

**Hallway Chatter - > There is a wind, and it howls…**

 

Inage: Are you always going to be wrong?!

 

**_BREAK!_ **

 

What. How. Why.

“Sugawara-san, if I remember correctly… That was not wind you heard in the hallways…

“It wasn’t, Inage-kun?”

“No, it was much more than that. It was noise! Noise chatter!”

“...!”

“During this time, Nagase and Ishikawa were talking to one another… And if I’m right, that proves that Nagase could not have committed the crime. He had an alibi all along!”

“Wait.” I say. You had all the answers… But you chose to wait three times a debate to actually say them? Why couldn’t you have just created a humongous paragraph? Even if nobody liked to read for fun or play reading games, I would have read them! I would have read them so hard!

“So I think Nagase is telling the truth when he says he has an alibi.”

Now you’re just ignoring me. 

Damn satellite. Is that why you need my sister? To repair your reception? Choppy-ass signal. Why couldn’t we have switched to something even better than that? Why settle? Why did we settle?! Holy. Why do we still use a landline when nobody calls us but us and telemarketers! We don’t like them! No one does! Cell phones are the future. They are the future. The times are leaving us! Why pay sixty bucks a month so telemarketers can ask us how our day went? I don’t want someone asking us how our day went every day! Nauseating! Utterly!

So here I am, actually making sense. Then things just start getting stranger. They completely ignore my statements, and then what follows is this whole entire mess of an explanation of a crime scene that I suddenly realized I was never a part of. It goes from a broken-down bumper car exhibit to unnamed sea turtles spotted scuttling away from the crime scene. Or were they sea tortoises...? Somehow this is all suppose to make sense, and somehow it’s suppose to not make sense. I think we’re looking too damn closely at the evidence, except maybe it isn’t evidence. Maybe the evidence was never evidence! Maybe the evidence was planted, which would make that planted evidence! The evidence is falsified, which means it isn’t evidence! Holy. Sudden revelation. Right here. Now. Soon or later we go through the process of hearing who screwed in a light bulb and who had the dastardly plan to unscrew said light bulb. Miyamoto pleads the fifth and the Specialist Ishikawa takes the blame for indirectly causing his death.

Wait a second. Inage wasn’t ignoring me. I just forgot to actually voice what I was describing out in my head. Air quotations. Right? These voices in my head are confusing me with my own voice. Which voice does my voice? It should be my voice doing my voice. I think so. I think more so. Now that should be the norm - not several voices reminding me that I violate the norms every day.

…

...

“So Miyamoto was actually planning to murder Nagase by using his peanut allergy against him! And hence why Miyamoto was so intent on making that sandwich, despite Nagase being so allergic to it!” I don’t know about being allergic, but go on Inage. “And now, I think I got it… The person who punched Nagase in the face… The person who isn’t the culprit… The person who will eventually lead us up to the culprit… That person is…!”

But we already know this...

…

…

…

“It’s you, isn’t it?!”

His finger slices through air, its index flicking over to the direction of Watanabe Yusuke.

“Eh?” There’s a small what-the-hell-are-you-going-on-about-Inage-I-am-totally-innocent-like-are-you-stupid-or-just-stupid type of plea from him. Going by his reaction, I can tell he is more hurt than guilty, so therefore he must be innocent. No wait, it’s the other way around with this.

And then Yamabuki has to intervene, “Yeah, like, Inage! Don’t just scream loudly at people to get what you want. Act your age, yeah?” Even she agrees. And as does Chiba, Kobayashi, and pretty much everyone except Noguchi and my heavenly positive sister! Naturally I don’t agree with my sister, so fuck her.

“But it all makes sense if you think about it. There is more reason to suspect him than you guys to suspect me.”

“I agree with that line of thought, definitely!” Kobayashi shouts, arms waving about.

“Wait, you agree with me?”

The Kobayashi looks on contemplatively, “Oh yeah, man. This is definitely gonna cost ya some influence all right.”

“Gah! So I’m not helping anyone with this? I must have pointed at the wrong person!”

Ahaha… Ahahahaha… Hahaha AHAHAahahaA…

Aha.

Just put on an explosion already. Somehow. End it. Interest waning. It’s not dead yet. Please. End this. Say it. Already. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Someone please. Someone please just say it already say it say it say it say it it it it

Nagase pulls out a gun and shoots everybody, and then turns the gun onto him-

“No no no no no no! Too damn vague! Details! You! See how I’m pointing at you?!? Talk it as if I were describing it. You have all the luxury of getting this on paper, now do it like I used to. Yes? No? Yes? Of course Yes! Not No! Don’t say No! Lowercase that last no! Fuck! Not that No! You that!”

The others look onto this sudden outburst from the usually crazed Nagase, though concern is the least of their concerns. Ever since he first came with them, he had been insisting or had shown blatant ignorance of certain things. For starters, he kept insisting that one of them was his sister, and she continued to make it not only clear that she wasn’t but that she was keeping her distance from him this whole time.

“You are my sister, Tamaki! Everything that you ever were, you were so beloved to me. Why are you with Inage? Why? Why? Stop being so close to him! I’m your brother, damn it!”

But then came the concern soon after.

“You’re delusional, Nagase. Stop talking to me already! I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

And then they saw the gun in his hand.

“Hey, Nagase. She already told you how it is, you need to stop doin-”

It came too soon for notice, and the shot perforates Inage. The second shot follows. The third. The fourth. Inage collapses to the ground before the fifth. Sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Then that’s the signal.

_“You got that wrong!”_

The catchphrase corrupted.

The twelve of them now know what has unfolded, how terrifying it was now to be playing into Nagase’s control. They were creeped out by him before, and they didn’t want anything to do with him. Several of them before might have thought otherwise then if then was not now, from Ishikawa watching over him every time before he managed to somehow escape her sight, to Watanabe indulging Nagase’s fantasy further, and Miyamoto genuinely making a sincere effort to befriend Nagase Hoshi.

None of it mattered anyway.

Questions fill their heads, as the rest of them shuttle into the elevator, but it’s all for nothing. Nagase broke the shit out of it when he entered the courtroom. Not even music plays from that elevator anymore. Monokuma chuckles all the while, and normally he would intervene and execute an unruly student on the spot, but this game was different. There was no rule against a massive free-for-all.

Nagase points his gun and then he-

Oh.

Wait.

None of this real. Nevermind. Shoot, they’re all looking at me.

“Okay, okay! Everyone! Attention!” And the attention is given. ...Is what I hoped. It didn’t happen. Likely scenario, but I tried anyway. It was easier than normal this time at least. Happens when it counts, I say. And so it comes to attention that in order to get attention, one must befriend the leader in the group quickly so as to establish a well-positioned position for which the side-attractions may become attracted to said well-positioned position. In this case, Noguchi would qualify as the de facto leader, despite someone else being the de jure leader. We forget that fact, and it’s probably for the best.

“Noguchi!” I yell, scream, yelp. My finger points at the Noguchi from the opposite end of the courtroom. “Out of everyone here, you at least take me seriously, don’t you?”

“I am rather certain I am with everyone else, the ones who do not take you seriously.”

“But you at least pay attention to me, correct?”

“Even flies garner attention when tenacious. Of course it would not be simple to swat you away, just as it is with every other fly you attract.”

“...You don’t pay attention to me!”

Huh. That’s not my voice. Noguchi looks to the side, disbelief displayed disappointedly as he is unable to fathom what made said noise. He mutters that he was almost certain someone unfamiliar spoke, yet he is unable to properly discern fantasy from reality.

“...That was not the voice in your head, Nagase? Was it not?”

“No, of course not. I find that they tend to remain in my head and not out!”

“Right you are… So what task have you unfortunately deigned befitting of someone such as I?”

“Tell everyone that Nagase has correctly identified the culprit.”

“You mean, tell everyone Inage has correctly identified the culprit, yet no one realizes they can easily skip some of our discussion to do so. Correct?”

“More or less, please do it.”

And so Noguchi Wataru delivered his task. His voice was brilliantly configured to manipulate the masses into subtle intellectual rituals - the very ones they rejected for quite sometime, with questions never answered due to never being asked. Such simple minds these students were with their mediocre modern-day Japanese education. It was a wonder why one of the requirements for Hoop’s Peak Academy was to be on the top of their class when one applicant admitted was a motorcycle-owning delinquent and the other whose very being is the personification of marijuana, by demeanor and appearance. But this is another story, and the story to be told is one that involves Noguchi Wataru and how his voice was brilliantly configured to manipulate the masses into subtle intellectual rituals - the very ones they rejected for quite sometime, with questions never answered due to never being asked.

And now everyone is listening to me. Me! Aha!

“You mean Watanabe did punch you?” Sugawara inquires… You were there when it happened, and you forgot. Already. Huh. That is honestly convenient. ...But that’s not what we’re talking about.

“No, no. I mean he’s the culprit! The culprit of everything!”

“Wait, wait.” Watanabe is suddenly shocked. Thrillingly horrified. “You can’t just accuse me like here like that. There’s a process to all of this! We’re to go at least a whole hour’s worth here discussing every single incident one by one through sheer process of elimination. You can’t brute-force your way through our bureaucracy to get to the one you’re looking for!” 

And that accusation of mine really hurts feelings for Watanabe.

“Bullshit. Just did! You think we’re going to wonder how far away did the sea tortoises swam up on the beach to get to our building? Or how much blood they cleaned up for you? Or if we can actually vote their ass in this trial? Hell no we aren’t! Hell no! Thanks to your nauseatingly convoluted murder plot that you fucked up several times over, we have a superficially uninteresting piece of murder trivia to consult!”

“You used one of those words wrong, you know.”

“No I didn’t… Wait, no! Yes I did! Yes I did! Now stop bait-and-switching me, you Culprit!”

“You are so crazy, like incredulously crazy! I was only messing with you at first for the hilarity of it, but you honestly don’t talk enough to anyone! Like, at all, at all.”

“Yes it’s you, and your title! How could you risk murdering someone first with a walking duck straddled to your saddle? There’s thirteen other people in this room that you could have waited on, but you chose to take the stab first. That’s crazy. Way more crazy than me. That makes me less crazy. Now I am not so crazy. Yes! That’s right! And it’s all because of you!”

The guy stares at me, as if I revealed something so revelational. That’s a word. It has to be. I think it is. I’ll do a quick search on the internet later. I mean, it’s good to be wrong but it’s not good to be wrong. Wrong is not good. Period. Lot of them. Pluralize that. It’s starting to become a pain to describe everyone.

“Oh right, and just for the convenience of the moment between you and I, you and everyone, and everyone and I, we’re going to start talking.”

Nagase: ...Like this.

Watanabe: What? What? What is _this?_ WHAT IS _THIS?_ What are you pointing at, Nagase?!

Nagase: And for the record, I was just bullshitting around mostly while we were trapped here in this crooked oval of a trial, but then we started jerking the chain too much here and there. See, that’s why I pointed you out early on in this trial and said you were innocent straight off the bat.

Nagase: I was being… Ironic! Aha. It was quite ballsy of me, you see?”

Kobayashi: Oooh! So much Chekhov in this gun!

Nagase: But wait! There’s more! We have so many people with so many weirdly convenient talents that can easily overpower your ass! So, essentially… We’re going to take you to school in this here trial.

Watanabe: Oh you are so wrong, I am going to pound you so wrong!

Nagase: I’ll screw you over so hard!

Watanabe: No more breakfast for you after this!

Nagase: That’s fine enough! It was practically poison being served anyway!

Watanabe: …!

Yamabuki: …!

Ohno: …!

Ando: ...Like, he poisoned our food.  
Watanabe: N-N-No! No I didn’t! I did not! He was speaking figuratively via metaphorically!

Nagase: Oh? I was? Sorry I meant to replace _practically_ with _actually_ instead.

Watanabe: Y-You opportunistic bastard!

Noguchi: And the truth revealed…

Nagase: Oh this was such a great idea! Now that I’ve casted out the voices that describe my actions, I can actually talk with my own voice. Ahahaha.

Nagase: First of all, we have Kobayashi-san!

Nagase: Kobayashi-san! Look at me pointing at you!

Kobayashi: You are pointing at me.

Nagase: Yes I am!

Kobayashi: Yes you are!

Nagase: If you were to read our scenario as if it were a story, how would you metagame the system?

Kobayashi: Hmm… A normal person would consult our local website for valuable information before deigning to make a decision! But me, I have it all inside this head. This scenario would prove to be the Untwist, yet its lacking of foreshadow measures is unworthy of becoming the Untwist. But we seem to be taking longer of an observation than most others, so if I were to read this now I’d say I’d probably forgotten all of this foreshadowing already. But for character development, I’d say Watanabe has had quite a bit, even reoccuring as often as Miyamoto. That’s a huge device to spot there, and it would honestly be a toss-up between him and Mori Shiori for the blackened status. But then we have other factors to consider… And even-

Nagase: Oh wait, how did I confuse you for Noguchi-san? Sorry but you’re going to have to stop explaining your ideas, they’re becoming quite lengthy.

Kobayashi: Aaaand that’s another one…

Nagase: I never liked reading games.

Noguchi: And what of me?

Nagase: You have discerning eyes for writing, what’s your opinion?

Noguchi: It is not I who is most discerning, but rather that who I praise and has beckoned that of my expertise. I will even quote an upcoming revelation for you: “Utter praise is for him, for which is yet to be fathomed. The unfathomable fathom. We do not simply inquire, we simply observe and extend our bodies to his will.” 28:13.

Nagase: ...Right. And what does he say?

Noguchi: He is our Culprit. 

Noguchi: If one were to happen to miss him, then I would be very concerned.

Nagase: And there we have it! And the next: Hirahisa-san! You see this finger pointing at you!

Hirahisa: Why yes, yes I do. I can see it even when you’re not talking about it.

Nagase: Well, some can’t! So I do it anyway.

Sugawara: ...That is unnecessarily productive of you.

Tamaki: Exactly right.

Hirahisa: Alas, there is a notion of mine to discuss either way, especially with this fellow.

Watanabe: And that would be?

Hirahisa: Ah, the notion of guilt of course.

Watanabe: How about we talk about this for an hour before we actually pick one of our friends to point and accuse?

Hirahisa: Yet I bear evidence to prove such; specifically this; look at this!

Sugawara: What is that? I’m afraid we wouldn’t know what it is unless if you describe it.

Ishikawa: A description. Required.

Hirahisa: Ah, you six-fingered men - it’s the same scrawlings of a map Watanabe drew of his detailed murder plot explained to Nagase several days ago. This is clearly premeditated murder detailed out. And in the moment it was as if one were buying their child his first murder kit, and you just gave him all the lines for the dots. The devilry of it! Ah, and do you, Watanabe, see this shoddy excuse of a campfire for an incinerator you drew on said map? My finger points! Yes - this is where Miyamoto ended up inside - burnt to a crisp, that foreigner! Ah-Ah-Ah!

Watanabe: No he didn’t! That’s not even evidence at all! You can’t damn well lie here! Not inside a courtroom!

Hirahisa: Ah? Ah… But I can! Think about every single person in this room - every boy and girl is either a Beautician or a Tough Cookie.

Ando: Gloop… Gloop...

Ohno: ...Gloop ...Gloop

Hirahisa: ...None of them are going to remember this with their goldfish memory. None of them.

Watanabe: He was stabbed by a kitchen knife _in_ the cafeteria!

Hirahisa: Ah-Ah. You just lied to me, you Connecticut Yankee. It wasn’t simply a kitchen knife at work… but a butter knife in its stead!

Hirahisa: Ah! And then everyone gasped in reaction to the sudden revelation! Ah-Ah-Ah!

Watanabe: …?

Sugawara: …!

Yamabuki: …!

Ando: Like, Watanabe just lied to us… He’s getting suspicious!

Ohno: And so it seems. Damn! I trusted him so hard!

Watanabe: That wasn’t even a- It- It- It wasn’t even- I mean! None of you! None of you two think enough to even think about this? They, they just lied too! Lied! This damn master debater even just admitted to lying!

Chiba: Yes, Watanabe. But do you have proof?

And then Watanabe let out a shrill cry of what could only resemble that of a dying animal attempting to crawl its way out of his throat. His smirk had fallen off his beautiful face, dull as a rug in a bug. It was almost like that one time I went to the beach and was attempting to eat lunch, but the seagulls came and attacked me for my food. Or at least I wished. Those seagulls attacked each other. So much fun was had watching them fight for peanuts. It was then… That I! That I realized I could play king with the se seagulls! And by the end of the beach time we had, I was the Seagull King... The King of Seagulls...

Watanabe: I cannot believe this… None of this… 

_Now back to him._

Nagase: And there we have it! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! This is the clevermost idea right here. Usually it would be like one person getting all the credit, but not here! This is the collaboration of efforts, my clevermost idea! Damn, I’m clever. Just so damn clever! Yes! Ahaha! Just yes!

Nagase: Now, let’s get on and vote this fellow!

Watanabe: What? What? No! No! None of this proves anything! This is real life! Real life! Re-ality. You don’t shout at the person until they’re wrong! You don’t try to guess people’s motives by their actions! And you certainly don’t pray to be right! No! No! No! No! No!

Chiba: You certainly are rather defensive when being accused!

Watanabe: I was accused!

Chiba: Even more correct to identify you of culprit status.

Watanabe: What do you want from me?! No answer I give you will satisfy you! You already think I did it! How can I convince you anyway!

Hmm…

Hmm…

Just hmm…

Is he the culprit?

Watanabe: You’re all so damn stupid! Stupid! Just die already!

Yeah, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the next chapter in a year. Maybe.


	17. Plot Synopsis Cliche

We proceed to vote Watanabe.

Turns out we’re wrong.

We get executed.

The End.


	18. ...Or So I Wished It Was That Type of Cliche

Or that would have at least happened had someone not stopped us. His name is Inage. He has weird hair. He tells us what to do when we reduce ourselves to just standing. Naturally we listen to a boy shorter than most of the girls.

“No… It can’t be right. Watanabe-san cannot be the culprit, Nagase-san.”

“What?” I say. It just goes without reasoning. I mean, I just gave reasoning, and so did several other persons. Inage is completely insulting me at this point. “Are you daft? How does this not make sense,” I tell him.

He then points at me, a determined look on his eyes.

“That’s because Watanabe was with me at the time of the murder!”

Oh. That is a very good reason to reveal this very late in the game. But alas…

“Oh really now? Are you an accomplice to this guy?” And I point at said guy, and his mouth closes just as I retract my finger from the opposite end of the room. Damn goldfishes. Always swarming the food. I proceed to point at the bear, and he proceeds to tell me how there’s no such thing as accomplices because then they would get executed, so it’s illogical. And it’s to this point I have to prove Inage is illogical, and so I…

“You’re right, I was just fooling around in order to prove the real culprit’s guilt.”

Several gasps arise from the audience!

“That’s right, it’s none other than…”

_“Oh no you don’t!”_

Ohno Masaya chooses this time to bash his fists together. Sparks fly. Eyes electrify. His form extends a lone finger in the small boy’s direction. “In my country we can determine liars by the struggle of their honestplay. Your honesty knows no bounds!” Shockness fills the room. I’m staggered here and now. How can he recover?

...

But this is where it ends, or where it repeats. It keeps happening and happening and happening. These events, they regurgitate themselves, attempting to replicate themselves as fresh. It’s as if dry fish decided not to be pungent. Whoever put us in here has repeated hell’s incarceration several times over, demanding death, demanding it different, demanding it similar, and yet there’s almost always some sort of pattern every single one of us follows… By some inexplicable force, we’re able to deduce the culprit. Unsurprisingly, she is the one who takes the stage left.

_**The Great Deluge - Or How Unpaid Water Bills Will Destroy You And Your Home** _

Her figure positioned inside a classroom, she becomes startled at the sudden scenery pouring in about. She gets up from her desk and is suddenly surrounded by silhouettes of students. But no student is anything but a bear. The clock ticks counterwise, its hands bellowing out the next day - the last day. Graduation stiffens. Tears are shed. Shimori is befuddled yet again. She looks about. Her mouth mouthing what seems to be a great “Oh.” 

And then comes the next stage after that which is Hoop’s Peak Academy, the best university in the state guaranteeing a full ride to delightful Shiori Mori. Hoop’s Summit University. (A conveniently named school for convenient Hoop purposes.) But wait - she’s not covered financially for on-campus expenses. Time flies, an apartment room unfolds. She lives there now. Off-campus. Not on-campus. Also not with parents. Could have. Independence. Important. Turns out not so important. 

Spiderwebs cling to subtle corners. Dreary. Daft. Devoid. The time to pay up the dues has come, yet there is no such thing as a part-time job for poor Shiori Mori, for she never realized just how much minimum wage could not cover at one part-time job, and even less how much time she wasted searching for one during the great surge of college-time part-timers. She should have waited until the summer semesters, but then again these type of summer semesters are very different from usual summer semesters in the sense that they are very different. 

Her entire figure staggers at the sight of various unpaid bills… All laid on in a table futon in front of her... Electricity is to be cut off. Internet follows suit, payment or not. College now demands the money she wasted from unneeded emergency loans when she fearfully decided to drop her courses after contemplating her future success and happiness… Or at least she should be, because her head turns around, as if to wonder… “What am I suppose to do now?” And it’s dreadfully so because said head must be feeling the urges and pains of college life and its shackles, because college debt comes twicefold unexpectedly when you suddenly decide to cut off parental support even though you actually live with said parents. (How does that work?)

She begins knocking on the table. Shouting. Even more shouting. Looks like she wants to say something. Looks like this glass is keeping us from hearing her. Huh. Hey, Monokuma - do something. And he does. He presses a button and asks…

“Whaddya want, victim?”

She proceeds to stand up from a recently-placed futon and declares everything from the heart, but it looks like this glass is still keeping us from hearing her. Yeah. Monokuma then presses another button. We catch bits of her converse.

“-and I’m s-s-suppose to be scared…right…? B-But there’s all this information here… On the table... It means nothing. Wh-Wh-What are you trying to make me feel…? Is this p-poetic justice, because how are you going to kill m-”

And then a water pipe bursts from underneath the kitchen sink, high-pressured water smashing her skull into a wall, killing her. 

Oof...

_She could have easily paid off that water bill, but only if she had addressed the other bills first..._

Fortunately for the next tenant, a bear can now live with reduced living costs thanks to the previous occupant’s death. Turns out not everything in life turns out pointless in today’s society. A meaningful meaning it is by the by.

But it just never ends.

Come the second trial, it comes. Miyamoto is now already dead, so is Shiori. Despite what everyone thought, it felt strange how little attachment I had to any of the two. It surprises me, just how much I interacted with the two and yet how little attachment I had to any of the two. By the time we enter the elevator, not a word is spoken, there isn’t even any of the irony of the elevator music cliches strutting about, ear to ear. Exit comes the elevator. Lights blink. The elevator doors open. Chiba Asami. Dead. Activist. Dead. Her body is crumpled outside of said elevator. It didn’t make sense, because it never makes sense. She was inside, but now she’s outside.

“Ah… Ah… You damned coffee-making attendant!” And Haruhisa screams fill the room, with a Monokuma announcement drowning his ridiculous office-related insults. “Ah! AH! Who is going to deflect my arguments now?!” None of it is surprising anymore, it’s trite. I put on my best thoughts, then comply with what’s to be said.

“Man, I don’t think this is how you should be acting, you two barely knew each other anyway.”

Someone screams in my direction. Probably Chiba Asami. We put on a cliche or two, do the investigation, with bullets raining down our end whenever Inage Kotoma announces something. Eventually nobody else dares investigate with him, not even me. They tried pushing that task on me, but fuck them. I rather not be part of his shooting range if I can help it. Somehow my sister decides she’s up to the task and then revolves around his revolver. Ha. Revolving. Just ha.

So yeah.

Turns out someone interfered with the power prior to our elevator adventure to reduce our odd 15 to a pleasant even 14. Said someone must have stabbed Chiba-san dead, but we had that done last trial, so that was definitely thrown out of the window. Instead, we find out someone had poisoned her logical mind, with actual poison. Somehow she didn’t show symptoms, but then someone pointed out how much she rambled, which was not honestly much of a difference, but a gunshot did rang out when Inage heard it. That’s probably something.

This time there are no sea turtles to diverse us into a diversion. The culprit this time around must’ve been impulsive as hell, and it turns out they are impulsive as hell because by the time we figure out that someone had taken the opportunity to take a specific interest in Hirahisa and Chiba’s relationship, we realized someone was jealous… Actually, they just fucking hated the two being together after a couple of background scenes later.

The Trooper confesses. Actually, no. It’s the Troper. He confesses, because apparently it’s just a waste of time and dignity once we’re onto him. Him. Kobayashi. He knows his stuff. His exact statement is as follows for his motive: “I fucking hate crackships, so I decided to abandon my ship to sink someone else’s ship.” Naturally, no one knows what the fuck he’s talking about, and then suddenly I start liking him even more for whatever reason. Somehow I curse more often than I usually do, which is fine.

Guy gets executed. We kinda forget why and how, but he gets executed.


	19. Extemporaneously Written Submission Cliche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure what is going on anymore, man.

At one point we were sixteen well, but it soon became just twelve unwell. There came a time where light-hearted humor paved a way for me, but that time passed. I now stretch my limbs upon this bed, aching to decide just what thoughts have been decided onto. All is clear, all is clear. While those left to misunderstand end up dead, I, too, will have lines yet unsaid. I hate poetry. I take a step forward and walk into a place I know all too well. It’s morning and the cafeteria is not without its daily dwellers inhabiting its fair quarters.

“Ah, if it isn’t Nagase-san.” Says an undesirable Hirahisa as he greets me, a bit somber in tone, but nonetheless disgustingly normal. I would respond indefinitely, but such usage of quotations would be a hassle to speak, and so I let the narration describe how I forgot what happened last in the last trial months ago, with the mention of Chiba sending Hirahisa into a rage. 

“Ah! Ah, do not ever speak her name here! You are not worthy of even being called her friend!”

“Goddamnit,” I say. “Your voicebox has got the oddest fucking crackle to its pitch.”

Speaking of which, I’ve grown tired of talking to the same people over and over… He reverberates, especially. That Hirahisa. I’ve even taken the time to not mess up his name on purpose nowadays. It’s just not as exciting of a prospect anymore. I even think he’s monotonous in ways, in how programming stays. Bad rhyme. Shit. Turns out that’s all I have to put up with, because Ohno comes into the cafeteria soon after, strutting some newfound development involving him and everyone else in the room, as if he’s deign himself important enough already. 

Hell.

“I realized the errs of my way!” Says he, the Ohno Masaya. Naturally, I tune in, because I’ve learned how every time someone becomes a little more than a wallflower, they end up killed. And so I listen. 

“Vulgarity is a privilege of the humanities, for without such life would be the difficult.” 

Never interrupting. 

“Swears are that which swears amount! They are the sisters to our-”

Almost. 

My foot presses off the seat of my chair, launching my body forward, my arm lurching forward, wind resistance negative eight prior. The Ohno Masaya can’t dodge the metallic extension of will, for the kitchen knife in hand will succeed just as it had with the other local giant in our student body.

“Don’t you ever mention her! EVER!” It’s very important to keep up appearances, which means screaming the guts out, less the observers think otherwise. My eyes glance briefly at Inage’s view. He’s watching. Watching. Good. I need to just adju-

And a blow to my temple sends me flying. Ohno retaliated. Good. All is planned as well, a comedy trite performed, and now to collide against the wall. 

Resume. 

Collide. 

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” 

~~Feign~~ Express the utter agony of performing such convoluted ploys. Holy fucking hell I am not as clever as I thought. I’m pretty damn sure it’s actually not an act, and I’m just cycling between being a paranoid jackass and a paranoid jackass. This is how I expect the neurotic fellows want to feel and all, especially when they start climbing ceilings, twitching about, breaking their necks in three-sixty format, all while chanting death and evil, and all that satanic ritualistic language talk they got going for them. 

To be honest, I wouldn’t even know. Hell, I don’t suffer from neurosis… I think. I can only say that I’ve used it plenty of times to do things I have never done. And this phrasing really means that I never did any of the things I wanted to do with this vast-wide computering system I have going on over here and there, and I can only say that I’ve used it plenty of times to do things I have never done.

Something recalls in my head, something I realized, something I never described back there. A voice resounds in my head, a voice different from the ones I’m used to. 

“This whole world is a trope…”

It would have flown over my head as a result of his character design, which is not the design of clothing but rather that of personality that refuses to be clothing. Clothing does not define personality! Personality defines clothing! Damn straight it does! I should write a book on- Oh hell! It’s doing it again! It’s-! Distracting! ME! ALL OF ME! Oh no! NO! NO! JUST NO! STOP! THIS NO! Da-

Whole. World.

And Kobayashi said this with a scowl… It was creepily unnatural, but he looked at me, somehow as if I was important. And it bothered me how he looked at me. Staring. Unnaturally. As if he wanted to chomp my fingers off and start a brand of fingers to sell, just like that time the smaller dog would dominate the overweight triple-sized dog with a growl to be had. I mean, they have two bowls, but they always eat out of each other’s bowls! Very strange. It is natural, because that’s the dominion they hold over each other. Even when one dog is in another room, the smaller dog growls. Strange, I say. And the other dog apparently has this instinctive need inside them, the type that people continuously spout over to me, as if they think dogs are even less humanlike. So strange. These people continue to dehumanize them all. And such. Someone tells me it’s because one bowl is metal, but I beg to differ. They don’t think more like people and don’t they think less like people, all of you.

I never described it because-

“Nagase-san,” says the towering Ohno Masaya, “How did you even think smacking me across would even work against someone thrice your physique, jackass?” No idea, you. I just do it all from the head to the hands. I’d even fix your sentence several times, if possible.

“Yeah, I don’t think I think enough like all of you do. Did you know that I was thinking just now and that it’s me talking, right? The Nagase Hoshi fellow?” And here I am pointing at this head of my with a nice finger. “That’s me. Me. Me. I talk, a lot. Like, a lot. If you gave me enough time, I’d make pages until you fellows couldn’t even follow through to flip a page. Hell, I’ve adopted a lot of phrases over my incarceration here, wouldn’t you say, Inage-san?”

“Yeah, Nagase-san! Why would you attack someone in broad daylight!”

And ignored by the very bastard child himself.

I take a look to the side.

Strangely enough, Watanabe has nothing to add onto the conversation. Not strange.

I thought I talked too much, but it turns out Yamabuki Kaori hasn’t even registered how many sentences I managed to spout between her dialogue and Ohno’s. I don’t think I have to worry about these people straying too far away from their words. Definitely. I do talk too much, don’t I? Even Inage doesn’t speak. Actually, he almost never speaks in these situations where everyone is about to kill one another, which is really just me trying to kill everyone, which would eventually lead to everyone about to kill one another, and so on, and so it was prevented. The passive bastard, him. He’ll live long, I swear.

I’m pretty sure Yamabuki Kaori isn’t even her name. Hell, I’m pretty sure Ohno Masaya isn’t his name either, and I’ve just been making pointless punless puns by nature. Is that even a word? Probably made it up. Counts for me. I understand it well enough to still use. That’s good enough for me, I think.

You’re okay in my book!

I decide to walk away from the heated discussion and exit right to the left. As I exit the cafeteria doors, I run into a problem, which is none, but the fact that I ran into no problems IS a problem, because I am a paranoid jackass who keeps thinking it’s fine to overthink these situations. And so on. I move away from the cafeteria without a trace of difficulty. So simple. These feet. Clippity-clop. Clap. Clap. And as I move away, I hear some other traces… Traces of a conversation going on without me.

“I say we restrain that siscon bastard!” Says my heavenly fucking sister, Tamaki. Bless that damned angel’s soul and whatnot, I think. Some others agree, with the most prominent being that Super High School Level Master Debator Haruhisa Misaru, who is clearly ticked off that I made a posthumous mention of his long-dead obsession’s name… 

“Ah, yes! Restrain! That is what will do the boy some good! Restrain!”

Goddamn voice of reason right here, I say.

“Wait, no! We cannot do this! Do you not see how it’s more dangerous to do this?! We do this, and Nagase is fixing to get killed outside our view!”

“What are you talking about?! The only bastard who is going to kill is him! And frankly, it would be better if he was at the end of his own knife. Easy trial right there, I tell you!”

“You’re mad! All of you! All of you!”

“Sure thing, and here we-”

At that point the echoes in the hallway cease. I could go back, but I have a scheduled… Wait. I did? I don’t really remember… I don’t really… No, I don’t. I never had anything to get to, did I? None of this makes sense. It’s then the realization comes to. Whenever tension picks up between several characters, said tension can easily last up to fifteen or twenty minutes depending on how melodramatic it all employs itself. So much can be proven to get done over something about nothing. There’s a quote I’m pretty sure I ripped that from, but yeah. 

My feet walk me over to the front of some bright red door, and I’m utterly familiar with that hideous display of trial and such. There is no such display. I made it up. And I proceed to walk elsewhere, a dejection in my demeanor.

The doors leading outside are still bolted shut. Someone was tracking dirt a night ago, but we’ll never know which one of us is the bastard constantly going out and in here. Hell. They don’t even bother to mop the floor or take off their damn shoes in this Japanese school of ours. Seriously, not even a goddamn cubbyhole for any of us. There was literally sixteen of us, and yet not even sixteen cubbyholes. This is what I would call exceptionally flawed design right here. I’d consult the architect of this here caged environment of ours, but I ain’t one to take it up the top and nor am I the type to read the credits at the end of any movie we’ll be watching.

Essentially, this is some half-assed sloppy-ass design right here, and I’m the only one with some sense to be pointing it out in the first place. I quickly spot someone and wave their uselessness over to here.

“Hey, asshole! Get over here!”

Sugawara doesn’t even bother to give any famous glares of hers to that response. Typical. And here I thought she could supply some keen expert advice on part of general uncleanliness and such ilk. Such.

Doesn’t matter much, because I take a trip over elsewhere, realizing I got a place to be. Hallway. Good. Now to wait.

“There he is! Get him!”

“Oh, hey.” I say to the sudden influx of a lynch mob out to kill me despite not being able to kill anyone because we’d vote their ass quickly enough in the next trial if they even tried to kill in public, so it is most definitely not a lynch mob, but rather more of a restrain mob. It’s that sort of difference this time around. 

“You know, I was getting a bit bored here, so I thought to myself I’d come out and get tied up already and all that.”

“If you think running will make you any less guilty, I’d say you’re pretty damn guilty,” says the Ohno Masaya naturally enough.

“Oh don’t worry, I already know who’s gonna be guilty around here, fellow.”

“Sorry, Nagase,” Inage tells me, an attempt to console me with such a pitifully pathetically petty tone of his, “I know you’re scared, and that you might do something, but this might be for the best.” 

Yeah, quite the hypocrite, this one. 

“Hey, Inage. Remember when you said to the bear ‘No one is going to murder anyone!’ before we had a murder and then you said the same thing yet again to the bear after we had a murder? Just asking, but are you planning to say that again next time around now that we just had a second murder? Hey, do you remember when you essentially sent each of them to their death during each trial? Just wondering, man. Yeah, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to. You’ll live, because you’re too good of a person to die here. Just thought you should remember, is all.”

Naturally, he gives little to no response, so I give him a second response.

“Hey, did you know you’ve been conveniently misusing the word ‘murder’ this whole time? Yeah, turns out you gotta be bound to a law of sorts in order to murder anyone, because murders are unlawful by law. But hey, maybe we’re still in our nameless Japanese country in a named school for all we know, so you might be right. And you might be right to not use ‘kill’ instead.”

Naturally, he gives little to no response, so I give him no response.

Several of the other members of the nameless restrain mob give off some other lines I don’t dare remember, and the roping begins between us and them and me and everyone, except not everyone is there, and-

Hell, where is Noguchi? Why are you even missing? Where? What?

“Hey, Noguchi-san. You there? I don’t think I can see you. Can you give me some sarcasm to cheer me on like you always do?” And there’s not even a response to be had, for some odd-ass reason. “Please? No? Okay, I’ll take your silence on that.” No, this is seriously atypical, honestly. Wow. This is seriously curious right now. I am going to have to investigate on this a bit later when these schmucks are done.

I almost never like this part, but it’s always an unavoidable one, unthankfully enough. Hell, we have so much damn rope for some odd reason. Where exactly they get this I’ll have no idea on. Certainly not from the closets…

As if to inform my lack of informness, someone office-related informs me. “Ah, it is such a good thing we got some good rope from the second floor of this corporate office place.” I care not who said that, but they just said it. “Ah, and now for this one to suffer even more, I say.” They tie me up. Yeah, that’s just something right there. Yep. Real tight. Burns the wrists. Kinda chisels the skin. I could resist, but I’d know better not to after what used to happen to me. Not pleasant. Nope.

“So how do you feel about the relationship between you and I, Ohno?” And I say this just as Ohno gives a sudden tug at the knots. Yeesh. “It’ll be a pretty tight one, I’ll bet.” I tell him. And he actually honors me with a casual response of ‘Shut up.’ I don’t take it for granted, because I’m generally unused to someone speaking to me in such a manner.

They eventually toss me into my room, taking my door key with, and locking my room from the outside. Thankfully they don’t entrust the key to anyone else but my heavenly fucking sister. Bless her soul, honestly. I would kneel and kiss her feet if I could, but she wears dress shoes and not those nice open-toe heels, so dreaming will have to do and such. Hell yes.

I quickly flip open a kitchen knife I’ve been hiding somewhere conveniently located around my belt loop, and begin screeching across the floor… Screeching. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s like I’m one of those saw-devices and all. This doesn’t take but several minutes after a good fifteen minutes. Bit bored here, so I pass the time by edging myself to a nearby book. Already prepared and such, you see!

...Looking.

...Looking.

...Looking.

And it continues like this for a good while, so I have the thoughts in my head while I peer at the book for a good while or so, and just honestly it’s just so nerve-wracking and all. The thought of how I’m already use-

“Oh there you are Walden!” I state confidently with an index finger of mine, except the most I can do is just pretend to do just that. Idealistically, I’m pointing at a book. Realistically, I’m just pointing at a ceiling I can’t even dare to see. Or is it a wall? Man. Just man. “Man, I thought I’d never find you in time, Walden. What, with this ridiculous shoe carnival gimmick you’ve been trapped inside on this page so far.” Hell, I would have never guessed. Honestly.

And we’re still tied up here. Rope and all. Kinda wish the knife would saw me out faster already, but that’s just not how it is, realistically and all. Sometimes I stop to take a good look at the book, but I know I’m just losing time, so I reassume the back-and-forth motions, my head bobbing really damn confused like one of those things you put on your car that do what my head is doing and such. Yeah.

“Hey, Walden. You mind flipping the page for me so I can find you again?” I tell him. Walden continues to look at me with that goofy smile of his, and responds with nothing in response. “Really, you can’t at least do me that favor? Well, fine! Fuck you, too, Walden. I guess you don’t get to have a page-turner from me!” What a smug bastard, that guy. That Walden guy. Damn straight he is. I’d give him the finger, but I’m a better person than he is.

Eventually, the ropes around my arms come undone, and I quickly unfasten loose the ropes around my legs. Ohno almost always does a shitty knot anyway. I’ve seen him try to tie curtains together one time, real terror for them. He does it so rough he tears the threads off, and the sunlight suffers direly as a result. Then again, no knot is not enough for my kitchen knife taking a stab at it.

Aha!

Aha…

My legs shoot upward, a stand for me. They briefly kick the ropes, but only to get caught in their entanglement! “Damn! Get off me already!” I tell it! The anger approaches, and the ropes cower as I send them across the room into a nearby wall. The wall crackles with a thump, an upset approach to its conflict between rope and wall. “Yeah, you quit staring at me, too!” I tell the wall. The wall says nothing in response, and it’s already a victory for me.

Heading outside the door isn’t much of a real chore, thankfully. I unlock from the inside and place the book of Walden in between, pressing the gap shut. I mean, open. Yeah, open. Ohno is apparently also terrible at locks, too. Guy forgets to remember to lock the inside of a room instead of the… Whatever. I take a step out, and begin a venture into the hallway, a tired clippity-clap in my step. It’s nighttime. Good. Scary things happen at night, but not this night. I take off into a sprint, with a determination to conquer this hallway of ours… But not before briefly giving off the finger from behind.

There’s something about my steps that has a purpose. It’s been a good while since, but sometimes it’s best to pace these purposes apart and such. I’d know from experience. I take a knock at a nearby door, expecting someone to answer. Not a chance. Not a sound. I bang on the door some more, before retreating into the cafeteria for a while… Except the cafeteria is locked at this hour, so I pretend to go into the cafeteria to get a chair, when I’m really just getting a plastic chair from the laundromat center nearby.

Soon after, I’m standing in front of said door again, a chair in hand. “Answer already, damn it!” And I fling the chair over at the door itself, one of its legs smacking the doorknob all the while, a ding resounding from chair-knob matrimony. Naturally, there’s a conflict, so I divorce said chair-knob and begin pounding at the door repeatedly with the chair. “I said answer already! Answer!” The plastic chair reverberates a sad sound, clearly already regretting its decision to be made. Should have known a metal chair would have been better, which is why I should have prepared metal over plastic earlier on. But no. I didn’t. Just gre-

And then someone’s door flings wide open, and by instinct I drop the chair and take off into a sprint, a shadow into the darkness. “What! What the hell are you doing?!” I hear immediately from behind. And I recognize her voice to be- 

“Who’s out there?! I heard you! We’re trying to sleep over here, damn it!” 

Yamaguchi Kana. Probably one of the more level-headed people, honestly. Honestly enough, it’s uncommon to see her this pissed. As I hide behind a nearby conveniently placed bookshelf, my eyes catch the shadow of her movements stomping over to the plastic chair, its miserable self collapsed on its side.

“What…” It’s all I hear as she just looks at it for several seconds, right before glancing around for the culprit themself. Himself, actually. She proceeds to pick up the chair, and I reckon she’s going to place it back into the laundro-

“Holy hell!” 

She instead throws it near my hiding spot, prompting me to rush out into the darkness, a terror in the night. “Yeah, run!” She shouts from behind, a distance away. “Run! Run already, bitch! Plastic is for the damned recycling bin, not the floor tiles, you little punk!”

“I never wanted plastic, I wanted metal, damn it!” I yell at her, my breath ragged and heavy.

“Nagase, what! How did you get out of your room?!”

...Yeah.

It takes a while to lose her, and it’s then I realize I took a while for nothing, because she didn’t even attempt to chase after me. And that’s when I realize my time has already been wasted, by me. The worse time-waster to be had can come from yourself, as I’ve learned to realize. I slowly start giving up this newfound determination I had nearly twenty minutes ago, and it’s then I start heading back, checking each room as I go along my way back.

And then the open door to a room comes into view, and it’s not just any open door to a room… No, it’s the open door to a library that comes into view. There’s a good chance I’ll find what I’ve been thinking about, I tell myself, without actually telling myself. It’s called thinking, I think to myself. The door creaks open as I creak it open. My hand pushes, and my body lingers forward into the room. There’s a fireplace in the back of the room, and it just makes me think how many books could easily be used for keeping that fire alive. But it ain’t quite that temperature to try just yet.

My eyes glance at what I now see in front of me, and the sweat sweats from my body, a relief comes over my haggard self. There are quite many times when one feels the need to just give it their all before giving it up and all. But now is not the time for metaphorical nonsense, because it’s there in front of me that I see in front of me the person I have just been-

“Huh… Oh, it is you. Quite a latecomer, Nagase-san.” He says, finishing up that book of his over a deliciously enticing campfire.

“...Noguchi Wataru.”

“Yes? Why the sudden announcement of my whole name from you?”

“Nothing, I just felt like saying your name.”

“You are frightening me, Nagase. Are you not to be restrained properly? Honestly, this should not be unexpected now that I think about it.”

“You’re right… Sorry, I can’t clear my thoughts as easily as I thought I might. It’s becoming extremely agonizing to do so.” And it’s true, and it has been especially true for me.

“And?” Noguchi begins, a trace of… Was that tint of utmost sorrow from he himself? “What are you trying to say?” And he’s...

But it doesn’t matter. 

“It never matters!” I tell him.

And it always didn’t.

Without much thought, my hand then brandishes a knife. A kitchen knife, to be exact! When and how I had it, how I now have it despite what had happened previously no longer matters. Noguchi Wataru, bless his damned heart, must absolutely implode from existence, with a dance on my blade. Poetics of it all! A knife in hand!

“It never ever matters! Ever!”

And then I fail absolutely miserably as he proceeds to punch the hell out of this face of mine with the book he was reading. Eventually I can make out the title of “Positive Thinking - And How to Reinforce it” being pressed against the corners of my jawline. Repeatedly.

“Fuck off, Nagase.” He looks down on me, just as I am on the floor, his gaze directed at me. “Really, just fuck off, man.” There is something off with that glance at me, something uncharacteristic. “Really not in the mood right now. Like, really. Really!” And he’s seething. And I realize he’s no longer done, as he pummels me with the book titled as “Positive Thinking - And Ho-

“Hell of a nuisance! You! You! You ever think of anybody but your damn self, you damned thing! Always! Always! How are you even called a living creature on this swell thing we call a planet? Huh? Huh?! That’s right! That is exactly right” His hand whips across the room, tossing the book into a wall, its chapters colliding against several other books as they flop from the shelf, a pile now forming in an already formed pile “Hell! Just die already, damn it!”

My hands are bleeding, but they aren’t. They never bleed. They never ever bleed. Not through the pain, not ever. And it’s then I realize the inconsistency, “Noguchi, you’re… Who are you?”

And he freezes. He absolutely freezes. A shiver runs down my spine, and it’s nothing even hilariously horrible about it. There is no longer any screaming from within the tunnel of his.

The look he gives me is one that is utterly describable. It’s the type of look you realize where all hope is lost, where you realize that somehow for some otherworldly reason you’ve been granted the damned thing you last well expected. He realized that I knew. I knew what he knew.

“Hell… What the hell?”

“Yeah, exactly.” And I tell it to him again. “Who are you exactly, Noguchi?”

“Are you… You’re not, you’re not fucking with me, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” I tell him, and there’s this sudden boldness in tone from myself that I even surprise myself. “You’re definitely not acting right now, and I know the real Noguchi would never apostrophe anything in his sentences.”

“You’re serious? Absolutely serious?”

“Totally. _Too_ -tally, man.”

“Fuck… My god, you are…” He starts laughing, a laugh that is not even remotely pleasant. It’s the sound of an animal that started living after dying inside one’s throat. It is the type of laugh that replenishes life in a choke. “I can’t believe it. I… Hell… Hell…” 

“I can’t believe it.” He repeats for everybody and nobody.

“Kobayashi is dead. I could not break him free from his chains… I thought I could get him back, really.” The Proofreader begins to tear at the creases around his skin, and so I urge him to stop that, because it’s just so damn skin-crawling to look at. “Even Haruhisa… Even him… I just did not think it could all happen like this.” The man is clearly at his wit’s end, disappointed with everything and how depressing it’s been so far.

And he just absolutely wraps his arms around my body, his arms well holding my body against his own, a warmth of his own against my own, on par with that of a burning stove situated next to an incinerator.

“I thought I was all alone in this mansion. I thought I had enough with everyone not even paying attention. I thought we…” And he can’t even finish his sentence, for there’s a sob in every word said. There’s something beautiful about two men hugging, with one crying and the other just going ‘there there’ and the such. Hell and beautiful.

And then he just poured out this entire story, about how he thought things had started to become different, just when he had long given up even trying to do anything. It was the start of his characterization. It was the start of how he consistently adhered to being consistent in character. The act of it all.

In reality, Miyamoto was never supposed to die. Not this early. It was something new. It was something shocking. But it wasn’t enough. It was completely not enough. Last second glitches like these were never too unfamiliar with us. The whole scenario was practically conditioned into us, especially when everyone had treated it as if Mori Shiori had died first. In a little bit, Miyamoto would be back up, and Mori Shiori would be dead this time. The evidence was the same, the sea turtles never described properly were the same… 

All of it. 

Just all of it. 

What had been different was how the culprit this time wasn’t even Watanabe. What had been different was how Shiori made it into the trial alive at that point. What hadn’t been different was how, after all the accusing done to him, Watanabe continued to claim innocence, just like always. And yet it didn’t happen. He was never put to the guilt nor to the execution. I had even half-expected for Miyamoto to somehow pop up at the end of the trial, all alive and well, all corpse and forgotten.

It was different.

This time it was the victim who somehow killed someone. Someone who should have never died this early, never. They almost never remained dead. No, they just never became dead. The impact of the story would be well different had Miyamoto died this early from his original death. Mori Shiori even suffered an actual execution from killing him this time around.

And then came the next death, and the casualness of it all… It was casual in the sense that everyone had decided to act out their roles in the next scenario, despite never having had any of the development to enact their roles. Haruhisa was the most obvious, of course. But that didn’t matter as much as how quickly Asami had died. It was right after we got off the elevator. It was right at that point that Noguchi and I noticed it all, yet we hadn’t even tried to consult each other - there was no point for us to do so, to our thinking.

\------

And it’s like a flashback hits me. 

It’s so clear and disturbing, all that noise fuzzing about, here and there. 

Agonizing. 

The shock of it all. 

Back then, in another game, in another week, in another first several days of our incarceration, Kobayashi came up to me suddenly, spouting all his weird quirky statements akin to his personality, and then suddenly, with an unusual sigh from him, he tells me, “You know, us guys are having a meeting over in the library to discuss some more about our, uh, world views and stuff. You seem like you know something, so why don’t you come along, too?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to.”

“Yeah, well, uh,” He thinks for a bit… “Your sister will be there, yeah?”

“Then I’ll be there.”

A little later during the day, I went there, half-expecting a murder to occur in the library with a half-expectation of me murdering in self-defense and killing everyone through a trial by getting out alive. Naturally, I should have thought about her, but that never happened for some odd reason until I thought of it later after I should have thought about her.

“Hey, you said my sister was going to be here! Where is she?”

“Is that what you told him, Kobayashi?” Inquires an unusually even more charismatic-than-usual Noguchi Wataru. Damn, that fire behind him in the fireplace makes him look snazzy and delicious in that attire of his.

“Well, it seemed like the go-to method of making him come over.”

“That’s actually quite funny when you put it like that.”

“And kinda ironic, even.”

The two exchange a strange look to each other, and it is just so strange how they exchange this look. A silence eventually makes its way into the atmosphere, dampening the chummy mood that presented itself earlier. Noguchi clamps his book shut, his eyes now trained on myself. He adjusts his glasses as a person of his character normally does and speaks.

“You seem to be fashioning irony in the wrong manner, Kobayashi, but I will overlook this error just this once.”

“Sooooo…” Kobayashi begins instead, “Yeah… So yeah. Nagase-san, don’t suppose you’ve noticed anything strange while we’ve been shut away in this luxurious cage of ours, right?”

“Now you’re just being vague, Kobayashi.” Not waiting to finish, Noguchi walks over toward me, and he punches me. Ow. That one hurt real and quick. I tell him why he’s doing such, to which he tells me, “This is not the first time you have repeated this scenario. I have seen you interact similarly around with our other characters, yet you yourself act as if it is new every time.” He straightens that snazzy vest of his. “Supposedly, you should’ve notice something by now, right?”

And then it hits me suddenly. Shouldn’t I be…

“Shouldn’t I be bleeding or bruising up a bit by now?”

He gives a nod in response, “And you have just now noticed it.” His arms stretch out widely, an exaggerated display of his own. “I welcome you to the enigmatic nature of our setting. You are now one of us fellow philosophers, all well in our own right.” He gives off this dramatic entrance, as if something were to change in the background, yet nothing of the sort occurs.

“Oh that is real swell right there. I don’t suppose I get a reward, do I?”

“Negative, bucko-yo.” Kobayashi responds, a toothy grin in stock. “I would just think of this perspective of yours as the beginning of darkness or some sort.”

“What is that even suppose to mean?”

“Hell if I know, I just spout lines like these as if it came smoothly off the tongue. They don’t make much sense to me anyway. Flaming oil in an ocean and all that literary bullshit.”

Something moves around the right of this peripheral vision of mine. Noguchi is already plopping down that paper-holding device of his, spreading it out wide. “Kobayashi suffers from the occasional nonsensical bouts. We figure it assists in cementing his flawed characterization.” His eyes glance over that paper-holding device, his hand steadying themselves over it in a hover. “Very annoying, really.” He then takes various sheets of paper with drawings and text written over them. “By the way, sign here for a second.” He gestures over at the bottom of a sheet of paper, a circle drawn by a finger of his.

“Yeah, no.”

“Do it.”

“Fine.”

And the signature is proceeded to be written, because that’s how signatures are always written. Write! Write! Write! I write! All that sort of writing and such. Right. All of it. And then the Noguchi Wataru takes the sheet of paper and proceeds to insert it inside his paper-holding device.

“Okay, enough of the theatrics, none of this actually had a point. I’m just fucking with you at this point, so I will just go on ahead with it, Nagase.” He gives this look at me that is quite honestly unexplainable. “Stop thinking and look at me. See what I’m saying.” Right, see what he is- “Stop. Look. You know what’s the matter with everyone, right? You see it, right? It’s unnatural, like we’re not even people. Too damn consistent and all that.”

“I’m not following, man. You made me sign a paper that had no purpose?”

“I’m…” And he chokes up, “I’m saying we’re all too damn consistent to be consistently believable in the first place, and I mean it, I…” He ponders a bit before snapping his fingers together. “It’s as if we are a collection of persons by characterization strung together for a plot of sorts, as if we’ve been written with this intent in mind.”

“Oh that? You mean how everyone just outright ignores whatever I say?”

“There’s that, but frankly I do not blame them either.”

And then came the end of the idle chatter, and the revelations Noguchi had to say in front of Kobayashi and I. Kobayashi seemed to already know about all this, with me practically new to all this information. He explained how everything seemed to be constructed, how there was an order to it all. How everything repeated consistently over. Pretty damn convoluted, if you ask me. I didn’t follow it the first time, so I asked for an explanation again, much to their annoyance. I was even tempted to ask a third time, but these are real people and all, so I just didn’t.

Even more so…

“I have an idea on whom will be taking the first shot and whom is to take the bullet.”

“You mean, like, who’s killing who?”

Noguchi glances over to the left, scratching at his scalp, somewhat annoyed. “Right… Sure.” It’s probably with me that he’s annoyed with, most likely, but who knows? 

“We’ll just make this simple for you and just say it’s exactly that.”

\------

And it ends, just like that. All well and chummy. That was how we were every now and then when we somehow, by some chance, got together as us and not as us. It was how it was before everything crashes like always. I imagine we’ve had moments where our memory lapsed between each of our deaths. Where we never needed to feel an emptiness for something we had forgotten. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this, and it eventually stopped scaring the hell out of me this time around.

If I remember correctly, we ended up just like how we were similarly to this time around. Except this time around there was no alliance between us three to be had. There was no such thing as a friendship, just a triangle of annoyance. It might have been the first time I’ve worked with them, or maybe the thirteenth. I wouldn’t know, but from what I can remember, the first time for me when we did work together… Noguchi suggested we try to stop the first murder. He, of course, wanted to keep Shiori and Watanabe alive, but he also wanted to see if any change would occur when we did. Nothing happened. As soon as we kept them apart, Shiori would somehow disappear, only for us to chase after her corpse into the cafeteria, the only thing changing being that us three triggered that bear’s announcement this time around.

I’ve been screwing around this whole time, acting the way I’ve done, just to entertain myself for the inevitable. It didn’t really matter, but it just kept going despite whether it did or not. That’s how it felt like it really was, and I expected it really was how it felt like. 

All around me, I did nothing to prevent anything, and just by some chance I managed to get another person killed instead of the one who should have always died first. I played with her life, just like I did with Miyamoto. Out of the two of us self-aware schmucks, I might have been just the very bastard who got them killed. I can’t take responsibility for something so vague, but there’s always the need to do so anyway.

Some fellow seems to say it’s easier to blame than to take responsibility, but the fact of the matter that it was also easier to do the latter than to blame the hardest for when it counts. You blame, you make life difficult. Somehow blaming is easier, even when it’s not. None of that makes sense. It never does.

“Nagase…” And there’s the same person looking at me, the same one who I would remark severely as remarkably snazzy. A well-dressed man, he is. “I suppose you wouldn’t have something in mind, right?” And it’s not him this time asking to be leading us. It’s him asking this time around. He needs it. He needs it now and always. It’s then that I tell him exactly what he needs to hear and must want to hear, I tell him greatly and in the most genuine voice ever imaginable for even me to produce. It’s time, I say.

“It’s time we fucking advance this plot of ours.”

And that was the single most coolest line I had ever uttered in this half-assed story of ours.


End file.
